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An Accidental Affair Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 29007 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: MzPearlz – yes there is a little bit of a plot to this one and Hermione does seem to have a few issues. I hope we can get to the bottom of them ;)

Lin – I’m pleased not everyone is sick of me yet ;)

Staar – I’m glad that you enjoyed it. This one is proving to be fun to write.

Anon – I’m still very happy with the SS/HG pairing. Can’t see myself moving on for a while (if ever). The book promises to be . . . interesting.

Oracle – I think I like fucked up, sarcastic Hermione better too, she’s much more like me. I am trying to out-alliterate you by the way – I hope you’ve noticed. Perhaps that can be your new where’s Waldo? Why did Snape destroy the book? Good question. Perhaps it was just an accident? Does he do anything by accident? The tab A in slot B is hilarious as I had just written almost exactly the same line in this chapter (you will see) :)

Chapter 2 – Une Affaire Accidentelle

Hermione felt each brick in the dungeon walls seeking to draw the heat from her as effectively as a Dementor’s kiss.

“Are you going to light the fire?” She drew her coat tighter, wishing she’d thought to bring a scarf.

Snape’s back was to her as he expeditiously stirred something yellow and oily with one hand and scribed broad flowing strokes on a piece of parchment with the other. He spent a full minute writing before he responded with a voice that only served to chill the room further.

“I don’t expect you to be staying long.”

Already annoyed, Hermione rolled her eyes. The urge to tap her foot was growing, and not just in an effort to drum up a little warmth. They’d only owled each other twice since the incident at the museum but it was already clear that they were extremely unlikely to find a replacement copy of ‘The Magic of Sex’. Even though she’d sent all of her requests and queries by over-night owl, it had taken another full day to receive responses.

“We’ve wasted enough time already. I suggest we get on with it.”

“On with it?” He arched a black brow, spearing the quill into its holder.

“We need to start writing immediately. Otherwise, we’ll have no chance of completing the book in time.”

The furrow in his brow deepened as he stalked over, leaning on the table before her.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Miss Granger. Although I deny any responsibility for what occurred, I have the one hundred galleons to cover my part of the replacement cost. Anything you choose to do from this point onward is none of my concern. Now kindly take your leave.”

He spun away from her on the final word, returning to the bench where he picked up a decanter of something green and luminous, flipping open the lid to sniff it.

Hermione sat in mute shock. It wasn’t what she’d expected at all. Although the writing option was, admittedly, quite extreme, she really didn’t think he’d have that sort of money lying around. And, unfortunately for him, her plans were very much his concern.

“As I explained earlier, I don’t have the money.”

He swirled the liquid and sniffed again, ignoring her.

“If we don’t find a replacement book, I’ll lose my job. Then I’ll have to leave this place. And when I do, I guarantee Mr Dooley will make you cough up my share. Are you willing to pay two hundred galleons to get me out of your office or will you help me write this thing so we can part ways forever and pretend it never happened?”

She could tell by his pursed lips that her words had reached him but he continued to act like she wasn’t there.

“Professor?”

He turned his back and began writing again.

“Professor?” She’d risen from her seat and quietly crossed the room, touching him on the sleeve.

He caught her by the elbow, clamping it firmly between his vice-like fingers. “Don’t . . . touch me . . . again.”

As he glared at her, the rusty barbs of his voice and the wilful contempt in his black eyes hit home, piercing her with such tremulous uncertainty that it made her want to turn and run. But she couldn’t. Her livelihood. Her life as she knew it was at stake.

“I won’t touch you, Professor,” she responded, her voice surprisingly strong despite the burden of her galloping heart. “As long as you help me. We need to write this book.”

He released her elbow with a contemptuous sneer and turned away. “You write it.”

“There isn’t time. We’re going to have to split up the chapters as it is—half each. After all, this was your fault too, remember?”

He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over the bristles that had emerged like dusk upon his face

“If I had the money, I’d gladly pay to never see you again,” he muttered against his palm.

She didn’t doubt it. She had absolutely no desire to spend a second more in his presence either but there was nothing else for it.

“Bring that pile of parchment over,” he huffed, gesturing resignedly toward the far corner.

She did as instructed and he immediately used a wandless splitting spell to divide the long rolls into book-sized sheets before retrieving a bottle of ink from a nearby drawer.

“This ink isn’t permanent until a fixing spell is cast. It can be altered if required.” Making a low grunting sound in the back of his throat, he slid the bottle onto his desk, shaking his head as if it were taking all of his self-control to function. “Where do you want to start?” He flopped down in a chair and tossed the parchment onto the desk between them. “Fucking?”

For some reason, this was the first time Hermione had considered the reality of what they were about to do. That word coming from his mouth was like Neville Longbottom speaking Parseltongue. It shocked her. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination. She’d had plenty of experience with sex. Most of it drunken, and a lot of it she couldn’t remember particularly well. But having her Potions Master, the man more likely to make her wet from pissing her pants than anything else, rolling out such words with ease, made her insides squirm like they were infested with Flobberworm larvae.

“Um . . . “ she hesitated.

“Come on,” he growled. “This was your stupid fucking idea.”

So it was going to be like that, was it? She snapped out of her trance and grabbed a chair, dragging it over until she was seated opposite him.

Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage. Gryffindor courage.

“Seduction,” she said.

He glared at her and muttered something under his breath before scrawling something at the top of the page.

She leaned forward. “The Magic of Seduction?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t you consider that a trite name like, ‘The Magic of Sex’ is going to be accompanied by similarly uninspiring chapter titles?”

Hermione shrugged. He was probably right. Although this was their book now and, in reality, they could write whatever the fuck they wanted.

“Next.” He looked at her with a bored expression.

“I’m not dictating the whole thing to you.”

He sighed. “Don’t you have anything to contribute? Or does getting pissed every night make seduction obsolete?”

She blinked. Well, he’d clearly ditched his usual eloquence in favour of coarse expediency.

“Au contraire,” she responded, deliberately attempting to highlight his lack of civility. “Not only don’t I get pissed every night, I actually have a few techniques that work surprisingly well.”

Looking decidedly unimpressed, he flicked the quill between his fingers. She felt her throat tighten self-consciously. If the last few minutes were anything to go by, this entire process was going to be excruciating.

Tossing her hair, she focused on the grey bricks above his head. She didn’t want to have to face his scrutiny.

“Sometimes I put a little something behind my ears.”

He snorted. And she could have sworn he muttered ‘your ankles’ but when her eyes snapped to his, he was looking down at the parchment, completely deadpan.

Cheeky fucking bastard. He was clearly determined to bust her metaphoric balls at every opportunity.

“I have a flirty smile I use. Sometimes I’ll do a bit of sexy dancing. Or even a smart quip can be enough if they have half a brain.”

She ventured a glance at him. He made a sucking sound between his teeth before tossing the quill down with a despondent flick. “Sounds enticing.”

Right, that does it.

“And what, pray tell, is your foolproof seduction technique, Professor? The gratuitous hair flick?”

His frown deepened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really? So you’re denying that you deliberately flick your hair across your face to try to look sexy?”

“That’s preposterous.” He crossed his arms.

She raised an eyebrow. “Everyone knows you do it.”

Stretching his neck to the side with a crack, he pursed his lips and fixed her with his disconcertingly black gaze. “I’m not sure if you know this, but I nearly died.”

She caught her breath and gulped audibly. “Yes, I did know that.”

He broke eye contact and picked up the quill. “This is coming a close second to that event. So if we can hurry the fuck up and get it over with, I would be most grateful.”

She almost choked. This was going to be impossible. But then she remembered, there was more at stake here. Much more than she had let on.

She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind of him.

“We need a narrative. A story. Or a series of short episodes; some sort of descriptive vignettes throughout the chapters.”

He tossed the quill down again in exasperation. “Isn’t this an instructional text?”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone with the name Walter P. Whiffle is hardly likely to be writing a book full of pornographic prose.”

“How do you know?”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What were you intending to do?” She leaned toward him. “Write a bunch of, 'Put part A in Part B and shake it around a bit until' . . . “

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She sat back abruptly. “It needs to be sexy to read.”

“Why? No one’s going to be reading it.”

“They might. And if they do, it needs to have something worth reading. You can put some recipes for potions at the end of each chapter and I’ll write up some relevant incantations to finish them off.”

His eyes remained closed.

She stared at him as he sat, unmoving. Perhaps he was overwhelmed. She tried to think of something encouraging to say.

“Your voice isn’t always grating.”

It took him a while to respond. When he did, he was almost tectonic in his inertia, his fingers slowly unfurling from his face like the fronds of a fern.

“I beg your pardon?” He fixed her with a withering look.

“Your voice. It could be . . . under the right circumstances . . . sort of . . . seductive.”

He stared at her so long she wondered if he had fallen under some sort of stasis charm.

“What was it you said? A narrative?”

“Sorry?”

He slid back in his seat and folded his arms, muttering a spell that caused the quill to jump up on its nib, writing automatically as he spoke,

“She came in from the rain. A luminous vision in white. Soaked to the skin. Her gaze drifted around the room, seeking nothing and enticing . . . everything, alighting on me and my fire—or at least the mantel I’d chosen to prop against in one . . . smouldering . . . corner. She approached, eyes holding mine, entranced and entrancing, arms sliding carelessly by her sides, wet windows of flesh clinging to her sheer clothing as it shifted across her body with each deliberate step.”

Hermione glanced at the empty fireplace. No, the sudden rise in temperature wasn’t coming from there.

“I didn’t move, forcing her to stand close to absorb the heat—that radiating from the fire, mingled with the slow burn through my perfectly positioned crotch. Only a breath from the damp hip that swayed. Closer. Closer. The flames were similarly captivated, leaning towards her translucent form, lapping at her, trying to . . . touch . . . her.”

Hermione felt the air escaping her like a slow leak. His deeply resonant voice wasn’t just seductive, it was positively hypnotic, daubing her in great solicitous dollops. She realised she was biting her lip. Hard.

“I shifted the cloak from my shoulders to hers. She took it without hesitation. As though it were expected. As though we weren’t strangers, brushing hands, skin tingling; each touch a delicate, moist exchange. She asked if I always offered strangers my possessions, her lusty gaze trickling down my chest; lips dilating in the sudden warmth, flooding with dew-dropped red. I told her I would usually offer a more . . . vigorous . . . warming solution. She followed my gaze as it traced the titillating trickle of one tiny water droplet down her cleavage. I imagined licking it, capturing it on the tip of my tongue before delving further. She swayed closer, brushing that hip against me before whispering, ‘I believe I’ll take you up on that offer.’”

Hermione looked down at her aching knuckles, bulging like popped corn from clutching her jacket so tightly.

She cleared her throat. “Um . . . yes, that’s . . . that’s the sort of thing . . . “

She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “I’ll . . . er . . . I’ll go home now and . . . write the rest . . . the introduction and . . . my parts. When I’ve seen to my bits . . . some bits . . . and pieces I have to deal with, I’ll . . . I’ll finish it off . . . this off,” she stammered.

She jumped up from her seat. “Back tomorrow.” Her eyes flickered to his for a brief moment before she grabbed the parchment and bottle of magical ink and rushed for the door.

She didn’t see the corner of his mouth hitch in amusement as she stumbled through the shadowy opening and away.
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An Accidental Affair *Complete*

An Accidental Affair Complete