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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
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: Kvarta – Of course, never fear, there will be some from Snape’s POV too! I guess desperate circumstances call for desperate measures – I don’t think there were a lot of options in the end. ‘If you need my muse just let me know, I'm still willing to share ;)’ – yes, yes, if she’s still free send her over! :)
Zoha-Lixue – it’s going to be a bit of a journey I suspect :)
OO – ‘*Raises hand* I'm a Muggle, and I'd like to volunteer to be Snape's required fuck please. Is there someplace I should submit my name?’ – bahahahah. You’re the first in line, madam, take a seat, he should be ready soon. ‘Because no matter how I run the numbers, this looks like a win no matter what’ – let’s hope they’re not saying that for Trump tomorrow!

Chapter 2 – A Tall Order

“Alright?”
Harry sat down opposite her at the Gryffindor table, pouring cereal into a bowl as he licked his palm and tried to tame a swathe of bristling ‘bed hair’ that was refusing to behave.
Absently flicking her wand, Hermione cast a settling incantation, instantly flattening his dark locks.
“Thanks.” He threw her a sheepish grin, before shovelling in an enormous mouthful. “Slept in,” he explained, spraying milk and flakes in her direction.
A droplet landed on her hand and she stared at it in wonder. She’d been up for hours. Even before Dumbledore’s owl had arrived, pecking insistently at the window, she’d lain awake, haunted by memories of their ‘discussion’ from the previous day.
And, of course, the possibility of sleeping after opening the letter was nil.
“Looks appetising.” Harry nodded at the breakfast she’d managed to stir into a sludge without consuming so much as a mouthful.
She smiled half-heartedly. “You can have it if you like.”
“Can’t.” He shook his head. “We have Potions in five. Thought you would have been down there already.”
Her shoulders tensed before she pretended to stretch. “I thought I’d wait for you.”
He kept shovelling.
“What about Ron?” She glanced toward the door that students were now exiting in droves.
“Keeper practice.” He picked up his bowl and slurped down the last of the milk. “Playing the Scrotums on Sunday.”
“I thought you played Slytherin last Sunday?”
“Practice match.”
Hermione blinked wearily. She had trouble keeping up with the various and constantly-changing permutations of Quidditch-related activities.
She watched as Harry leaned over and helped himself to two slices of toast before Accio-ing a jar of marmalade and beginning to spread. He absently licked a lump from his finger as he covered each slice with a generous layer.
He has no idea, she thought. And why would he?
Dumbledore’s letter had politely informed her that ‘by midnight that evening’ the enchantment would need to be ‘fulfilled’. She’d been furious about how ridiculously innocuous he’d made it sound. Fulfilled? He was talking about her virginity, not some fucking aptitude test!
And now she knew why they’d all looked so morose. For some reason they’d seen fit to leave it until the penultimate day to put forward their ‘proposal.’
What would have happened if she’d said ‘No’? And why couldn’t Snape have contacted her himself? The perversity of Dumbledore managing ‘the act’ was even more bizarre and infuriating. Should she owl him when it was done? Send him her blood-stained underwear as evidence?
And to top it all off, she now had double Potions—two hours of hell with the man who would be claiming her virginity by the end of the day. It was inconceivable. And utterly terrifying. Like awaiting an execution. Even the lead up to Buckbeak’s death hadn’t felt nearly as bad because she’d had friends to share it with. Now it was just her. Alone.
“Cheer up ‘Mione. Might never happen.”
Hermione jerked to attention. Harry was watching her as he bit into his second slice. He was smiling but there was concern in his eyes.
“Unfortunately,” she sighed, “I’m pretty sure that it is going to happen.”
“Is everything alright?”
She leaned down to collect her bag from beside her chair. “I didn’t sleep—thinking about NEWTs. You know me. If there isn’t something to worry about, I’ll make something up.”
“True.” Harry stuffed the last of the toast into his mouth before standing. “I’m glad you’re not the Chosen One,” he muttered thickly. “You’d be totally screwed.”
She tossed her hair out of her face. “Maybe I am the Chosen One. Just not in the same way that you are.”
He halted and gave her a searching look. “Is there something I’ve missed? I haven’t forgotten your birthday again, have I?”
She turned and started for the door. “I’m trying to tell you that you’re not as important as you think you are.”
“I think you’ll find that I am.”
Her mouth curled into a reluctant smile before she flicked her wand at him, sending his neat locks into disarray.
***
They were the last to arrive. Even Ron was already in his seat, thumbing through the text book with the rest of the class.
“Mr Potter and Miss Granger, will you kindly take your seats.”
Harry’s eyebrow ticked up in surprise before he quickly headed for his desk. Hermione followed, feeling the other students eyeing them suspiciously for managing to arrive late without house point deductions, or even copping the usual bollocking.
“You’ll find the list of ingredients on page one hundred and five.”
Hermione glanced up to see Snape looking at her, she felt him attempting to help her under the guise of continuing his instructions to the rest of the class. Special treatment. How lucky. The sarcastic voice in her head had been providing a running commentary on her life from the moment she’d left Dumbledore’s office. It was completely unhelpful but she had a choice between that or collapsing in a fit of hysterical rage. She considered the voice to be slightly less dramatic.
Pulling out her text book, she turned to the correct page and scanned the ingredients. Her brain instantly clicked into calculating and planning mode. She had two hours of this. If she gave in to the tide of feelings that were threatening to swamp her, she would never be able to get through it. She needed to treat this entire thing as another task to complete—to get it over and done with as quickly as possible and move on. That was the only way forward.
And then Draco kicked her chair. She tried to ignore him, leaning closer to the book as though lost in deep concentration.
A moment later, her chair jolted again. “Granger,” he hissed.
“What?” she snarled, twisting around to glare at him.
“You’re looking particularly . . . fetching . . . this morning,” he murmured, as his eyes slid down to her chest. She made the mistake of looking down, just in case she’d missed a button. She hadn’t. There was nothing to see.
“Fuck off,” she mouthed, not wanting her voice to carry to Snape.
As she turned back around, he whispered, “I have a feeling you’re going to become very, very popular, very soon.”
Hermione froze. What did he know? A hot flush rolled up from her chest until her face was burning. He and his father were both Death Eaters. Was this something to do with the Muggle decree? Had she been discussed? Nausea rose as her stomach twisted. For some reason she hadn’t thought about how her Muggle status might put her at further risk. Would Dumbledore be looking to protect her also? Or was this all about taking care of Snape?
A fresh surge of anger captured her as she watched Snape’s swift, efficient strokes gliding across the blackboard. He might be extremely important—far more important than herself. But she didn’t deserve to be simply used up and thrown away. If she did this for the Order, she would demand to be protected in return. There was no way she should have to put up with weasels like Draco Malfoy threatening her—and in class of all places, where she should be safe.
But as Snape turned and his black eyes met hers again, she realised the irony of it. There was a good chance that she would be taken right here in this classroom. This is where the deed would be done—her place of learning right from her most tender years, where she’d wrestled with complexity, studied and fought and mostly succeeded—this would now become her place of desecration, where she was set to lose not only her innocence but also her self-respect. She might be doing it for the Order, and to protect someone she loved. But she was still doing it.
Snape’s eyes slid away from hers as he stalked forward to observe the progress of the students who were already chopping ingredients. Hermione tried to focus on the page before her but her eyes were swimming with tears.
No! She admonished herself angrily. She had agreed. No one had forced her to do this. She had made that decision, a difficult decision admittedly, but she’d weighed up some pretty poor options and come to the conclusion that it was the right thing to do. She really needed to pull herself together. This was, she reminded herself, a time of war. It wasn’t a time to mourn her privileged childhood. Or for whimsical longing about some fairy-tale prince who was going to court her properly, charm her, sweep her off her feet, take her through that sweet, flirtatious period to that first highly-anticipated kiss.
No. There would be none of that. Her watery gaze followed the dark figure pacing silently around the room. She was basically a hole. A useful hole as it turned out, but a hole all the same. And that’s as much attachment as she would have to the process. Basic service provision. Like a haircut, only shorter (hopefully), and closer, and messier . . . and more painful.
Drawing a deep breath, she blinked away her tears and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Service provision. She could do that. He’d just better not expect service with a smile.
***
“I have fifteen minutes.”
Hermione had surprisingly managed to produce a reasonable version of the potion and had also managed to pack up slowly enough to find herself the last remaining student in the classroom.
She found Professor Snape in his storeroom, tipping beetle eyes from a glass jar into a small vial. His head jerked up at her words, a tiny eye falling to the ground.
“I beg your pardon?”
Hermione looked at her watch.
“I have fourteen minutes.”
He continued to hold the jar, eyes balanced precariously on the rim. “Fourteen minutes . . . for what?”
Hermione tugged on her bag strap impatiently. “I want to get this over and done with.”
His frown deepened until he was looking at her as though she was insane.
“Miss Granger, you are a virgin.”
“I am actually aware of that,” she replied tersely. “Still, I’m busy for the rest of the day. This is the only time I can give you.”
He continued to appraise her with the same expression. “You can give me?”
“Yes. I have classes all day. Then we have a Gryffindor common room meeting that I need to attend. I have homework to complete before tomorrow. Now is the only time.”
Snape slowly placed the vial on a shelf before turning to face her.
“Miss Granger, I appreciate that you have agreed to . . . assist me in this matter. But, this is not something to be executed between lessons. It will require longer. I suggest that you forego your meeting. I will inform Professor McGonagall that you won’t be attending.”
“But I want to attend,” Hermione argued.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
Her mouth hung open, quite unable to believe that she wasn’t even going to be afforded the dignity of choosing the timing of this horrifying event. But there was nothing more she could think of to say.
Snapping her mouth shut, she turned on her heel and stormed off.
“Miss Granger?”
She halted and swung back to face him, arms crossed defensively across her chest.
He was at the storeroom door. “When you return you might attempt to be a little more . . . relaxed?”
“Relaxed?!” Her head snapped forward as though she’d been punched in the stomach.
“And how do you suggest I do that, Professor?”
Snape sighed, pressing his lips together.
“With the knowledge that my virginity is about to be taken by a man I don’t particularly know, whom I don’t particularly like, and whom is twice my age?”
She glared at him a moment longer before continuing toward the door.
“. . . In a fucking dungeon!” she threw over her shoulder before crashing out the door.
Snape waited a heartbeat before spinning around and hurling the jar back into the storeroom, smashing it, and an entire shelf of glassware, to smithereens.
Why did it have to be her?
Why not someone a little more agreeable, or passive, or willing?
Breathing heavily, he ran both hands distractedly through his hair. She’d been clumsily manipulated, and asked to do something that was exceedingly improper—he’d be angry too.
But she was such a poor choice by the Order. She was too bright and would naturally overthink everything, she was zealously over-principled as evidenced by her ridiculous plight on behalf of the House Elves amongst other things, she had that annoying Gryffindor temerity, mostly at the wrong times, and she was dangerous—her Wandwork was unsurpassed and she could easily Hex him during one of these encounters if she felt so inclined. She might be ‘of age’ but she was less than half of ‘his age’ as she’d kindly pointed out. And, finally, she hadn’t agreed to this for the Order, she’d agreed to it for the sake of Harry Potter, which pissed him off no end.
There didn’t need to be more of them sacrificing themselves for, so called, ‘noble causes’.
Lacing his fingers behind his head, he paced the stone floor. Dumbledore might be brilliant but he was very much focused on the ‘big picture.’ He clearly couldn’t afford to be undone by the minutiae of what they were all forced to do on a daily basis—otherwise they would fail to function altogether. But having to live out these moments, each one excruciating in its own right, was eroding him piece by piece. And, no doubt, Miss Granger also. And what purpose was there in focusing upon a 'big picture' at all, if every one of its elements was slowly crumbling away?
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Doing it for the Order *Complete*

Doing it for the Order Complete