Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Madrigal	By : Rotisserie_Cassowary Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 7982 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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I was awoken the next morning by tentative knock on the door. I gave an incoherent grunt, and the door opened. Hermione made a noise halfway between a gasp and a shriek, and spun around. I realized that I’d never made it under the covers last night, and everything was on display for her. “Sorry, Sorry!” I called out, smothering my laughter. I grabbed a throw from the foot of the bed, covering my legs and morning semi-wood. “Did you need something?” I asked with a smirk as she turned back around.
“Umm, I, uhh, brought you coffee and scones. I thought you’d probably been up late researching… So, yeah…” she stammered, face and ears burning red. She brought in the tray she’d been holding and placed it on my bedside table. I could see her subtly examining my body out of the corner of her eye. “See something you like?” I drawled sarcastically.
“Did You-Know-Who give you all those scars?” she asked, surprising me with her boldness.
“No,” I replied, “most are from my fellow Death Eaters. He likes to make us fight… and do other things to each other… when he gets bored. He doesn’t want us getting too chummy, you know. Wouldn’t want an insurrection,” I snarled.
“That’s fucking monstrous!” Hermione commiserated, anger apparent in her voice. “I can’t wait to kill him!” she growled.
I let out a harsh bark of a laugh, “That’s my girl.”
She gave me a shy smile and seemed to be having a difficult time not staring at the visible bit of skin where my hip joined my thigh. I noticed that she had brought two coffee cups, so I crooked my finger at her and patted the quilt. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. I rearranged the blanket to cover myself a little better and placed the tray on the quilt between us. I poured her a cup, then one for myself. She stirred a metric ton of sugar and cream into hers and tasted it, studiously avoiding looking at me.
Her denim shorts had ridden up her thighs, and her t-shirt was, distractingly, about one size too small. The air felt deliciously dense with sexual tension. I stared at her, occasionally sipping from my cup, until she made eye contact with me. I quirked one corner of my mouth and raised an eyebrow, making her blush furiously. Chuckling quietly, I leaned back against the pillows and nonchalantly stared at the ceiling. I could feel her eyes burning holes in my chest, and I relished the sensation.
If she was disgusted by you she wouldn’t be responding like this. She can’t take her eyes off of you.
But why? What could she ever find attractive about me? I’m absolutely revolting. It must just be horrified fascination. Like watching a train wreck. I’m so fucking delusional. How could I ever think she’d be interested in me? She’s perfection incarnate, and I’m a hideous, wicked demon of a man.
But she kissed you last night…
Yeah, on the cheek. I’ve seen her do the same to bloody fucking Potter.
Her heart races when she touches you!
Oh please, that’s probably just from fear.
But she’s the one who hugs you. And you’ve never seen her hug any of her other professors, have you? And it’s not like you have a warmhearted presence that welcomes affection…
Unable to stand it any longer, I made eye contact with her again, and she quickly looked down and picked at her scone. I was sorely tempted to legilimize her, but I just barely held out. We finished our breakfast in silence, occasionally glancing at each other warily. I shooed her out of the room so I could get dressed, and when I emerged, clad in grey pants and a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, she was already at work.
As we fell into our usual rhythm, the tension from earlier melted away. Within an hour, we were our normal selves again. We studied straight through lunch time, pausing only long enough to make a few pots of tea. I was discovering a truly massive amount of information, and I spent over an hour with a fantastic Wilderness First Aid guide. I learned about tourniquets, how to perform an emergency amputation, how to slow the spread of snake venom, what innocuous-seeming plants can be deadly, how to scare away a large predator, and so much more. I was having way more fun with this project than I’d ever imagined possible. Getting to spend all day with Hermione was the cherry on top of the sundae.
Around 8 o’clock my hunger pangs became too much to ignore, so I went to the kitchen and told Hermione to follow me in about 30 minutes. When she walked in, exclaiming how delicious it smelled, I was just plating her food. Her face was orgasmic as she took her first bite of pasta carbonara. “Professor, I’ve never tasted anything like this before! This is seriously the best carbonara I’ve ever had! How did you get to be such an amazing cook?” she asked.
I shrugged and responded, “I’ve been cooking for myself since I was six years old. My father would disappear for weeks at a time, and my mother would fall into these catatonic sort of episodes. It didn’t seem to occur to her that her child needed to eat, so I had to learn to provide for myself pretty quickly. I would always debate with myself whether it was worse when he was around, beating the shit out of my mother and me, or when he was gone, since my mother wouldn’t leave her bed for days at a time…”
Hermione’s eyes were filled with tears, but she sniffed and held them back. “That’s so awful. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she whispered somberly.
I scoffed halfheartedly. “That’s all in the past now. It has no bearing on me today.”
She shook her head slightly, but said nothing. She did reach out and give my hand a brief squeeze, however, sending pleasurable shivers down my spine.
She firmly insisted on cleaning up the kitchen, so I returned to the library. She joined me after a span and suggested that we move to the couch to be a little more comfortable. Sitting with her in front of the roaring fireplace, reading and sipping herbal tea, was truly a picture-perfect moment. I wanted nothing more than to stay there for the rest of my life, hiding from the world with her. She shifted around a couple times as the hours passed, progressively moving closer and closer to me. By the time midnight rolled around, she was mere centimeters away. Then, impossibly, she laid her head on my shoulder and leaned against my side. I turned slightly towards her, and she settled into the crook of my shoulder, holding her book over my lap.
Cautiously, pulse pounding in my throat, I wrapped my left arm around her waist, holding her against me. She made a little sigh of contentment that melted me. I was filled with such exquisite, devastating joy that I felt my heart might burst from the sensation. I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I blinked furiously to keep them from falling. That was the first moment I realized my obsession with Hermione wasn’t just simple lust; I falling for her- hook, line, and sinker.
Before too long, I noticed a change in her breathing. After whispering her name a few times, I realized she was asleep. Unwilling to disturb her, I just kept reading. She gradually slipped down my chest until she was spread out across the couch, head resting gently in my lap. Her hair fanned out across my legs and stomach, and I couldn’t stop burying my fingers in it.
She was so peaceful in repose; I couldn’t help but stare. I was utterly enchanted. Eventually, many hours later, I drifted off to sleep as well. We spent the entire night there- me sprawled out with one leg on the couch and one on the coffee table, Hermione practically lying on top of me, wrapped up tightly in my arms. It was deepest sleep I’d had in years.
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Madrigal