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 awoke early the next morning and laid there for a long time, simply relishing the moment. She was impossibly light and delicate, feeling like little more than a housecat lying atop my chest. One of her legs was thrown over my own, and her arms were wrapped around my waist. I’d never in my life wanted anything more than to stay there, just like that, forever. Eventually, an idea occurred to me, and I reluctantly slid out from under Hermione. She stirred and looked up at me sleepily as I placed a pillow under her head and covered her with a blanket from my room. “Shh,” I whispered, “Go back to sleep. I’m running out for a few hours. I’ll be back soon.” She made my heart skip a beat with a sleepy little smile, then closed her eyes.
I waited for her breathing to slow and deepen before I dressed in my most nondescript black wizard robes and left the house. I disappeared from the top step, arriving at the designated apparation room in the Leaky Cauldron. I entered Diagon Alley, hoping the early hour and post-Christmas shopping lull would keep anyone from recognizing me. I surreptitiously entered Madame Malkin’s, a bell announcing my arrival. She emerged from the back room sipping an enormous mug of coffee and glowering at me imperiously over her round spectacles.
“What can I do for you this morning, sir?” she asked, somewhat brusquely. I explained what I was looking for, and she nodded thoughtfully. “I believe I have just the thing. Give me one second…” Within five minutes, I was closely examining the four sets of robes she’d brought out. She had enchanted them for display, so they twirled and danced as if they were filled with invisible people. I pondered my decision for a while, but the choice was obvious. Naturally, the most expensive one was far and away the best. It was over 60 galleons, but Hermione was worth every last knut.
Scoffing at my own sentimentality, I stopped in the pet store to buy a new bed and bag of cat treats for her beast. She had mentioned multiple times how much she missed Crookshanks, and wished she hadn’t left him at Hogwarts under the care of the house elves for the holiday. I grabbed a self-inking quill and roll of gift wrap from the stationary store. I entered the sweet shop for the first time in my life, feeling supremely uncomfortable. I hastily filled a colorful gift bag with chocolate truffles, delicate candy flowers, and multiple flavors of fancy cauldron cakes, then retreated from the store before anyone could recognize me. Finally, I stopped by the market and gathered all the ingredients for the dinner I had planned.
When I arrived back at Grimmauld Place, I was gratified to see she was still sleeping. I placed the Ever-Hot Latte and assorted danishes I’d brought on a silver tea tray atop the coffee table. Then I snuck into my room with my purchases, closing the door quietly behind me. Deciding it was more thoughtful, I wrapped the gifts by hand, only using magic to cut and adhere the paper. My brain had been blessedly free of recriminations and doubts all morning, and I found myself feeling bizarrely optimistic. I nearly whistled a tune as I piled her gifts in the corner and disillusioned them.
She was awake and enjoying her breakfast when I exited my bedroom. She honored me with a lovely shy smile. I sat in the armchair across from the couch, placing my own latte and a cheese danish on the table beside me. I tossed half of The Daily Prophet to her. We hid behind our respective papers for the next hour, but we’d occasionally catch each other’s eye on accident.
The short time she was gone, showering and dressing for the day, was nearly unbearable for me. I couldn’t concentrate on anything and simply paced the library, waiting for her to return. I fantasized about sneaking in the bathroom while she showered, peeking behind the curtain as she rinsed her hair, taking off my robes and slipping into the shower with her, she’d startle at first, but then her eyes would darken with lust, she’d fall into my arms, hot and wet and slippery… OH GODS STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!
I was supremely relieved when she returned and we got to work. Thank Merlin for the sanctuary of research! It’s the only damn thing that can distract me from obsessing about her. And I’m still glancing up at her every few minutes, admiring the little crease of concentration between her thick, elegant brows, watching her eyelashes flutter as she scans the page, staring at her lips, red and swollen from her constantly chewing on them in concentration. That glorious hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head which she’d secured with two pens. It was slowly, distractingly, coming loose. Large ringlets cascaded down her elegant throat and slim shoulders. One piece kept getting stuck on her lip, and she’d blow it out of her face irritably.
We spent the next five hours in that fashion: Hermione working diligently, myself less so. We found yet more potentially valuable information, and we were each working on filling our third 100-page spiral notebook. I had to admit to her that muggle paper was definitely far superior to parchment, and ball-point pens were much smoother to write with than sharp quills.
Eventually, I told her I was going to prepare dinner, and that I’d call her when it was done. She nodded distractedly, absorbed in a memoir written by an Emergency Medical Technician who had heroically treated victims during an active terrorist attack.
I pulled the guinea hens I’d been marinating all day out of the icebox and massaged them inside and out with a compound butter I had made with white wine, fresh rosemary, fresh thyme, garlic, and kosher salt. I trussed them, settled them onto a roasting rack, and slid them into the oven. My carrots had finished peeling themselves, so I tossed them with balsamic vinegar, honey, and olive oil and spread them out on a cookie sheet. I seasoned them and threw them in the oven as well. I set the potatoes to diligently peel themselves while I ripped the stems from leaves of kale and spinach. I chopped the perfectly cleaned potatoes, tossing them in a pot of salted boiling water. I sautéed the kale in compound butter, adding the spinach much later. I drained the fully cooked potatoes and enchanted a mixer to whip them as I poured in cream and added butter, a ton of roasted garlic, salt, and pepper. I poured the rest of the cream into the spinach and kale along with a bit of milk, grated in some nutmeg and added pinches of salt and sugar.
I pulled the perfectly roasted birds and carrots out of the oven and called for Hermione. I placed the guineas in the the center of our plates, ladling some of the pan drippings over them. I artfully surrounded the hens with fluffy piles of whipped potatoes, creamy greens, and sweet, succulent carrots. I sprinkled everything with roughly chopped parsley and was opening a bottle of Prosecco when she entered the kitchen. She had changed into a tight red sweater dress which she wore bare-legged with a pair of high-heel ankle boots. Her hair had been done in an elegant French braid, and she wore subtle eyeliner and lip gloss.
She smiled at me shyly, quickly looking away. Then her eyes took in the spread I’d put out, and she gasped in delight. “This is incredible!” she exclaimed, “This seriously looks like something from a gourmet restaurant! Better even!” My chest was suffused with warmth and pride, but I just shrugged nonchalantly at her compliments. We ate our dinner with lively conversation, laughing and discussing our findings excitedly. We quickly moved onto a second bottle of Prosecco, and Hermione inhaled seconds of all the sides.
She insisted on cleaning the kitchen while I relaxed in a chair by the fire, sipping my sparkling wine contentedly. I watched her flit about the kitchen, every movement perfectly graceful despite her tipsiness. The front of my trousers became uncomfortably tight when she bent over to pick up a fork she dropped on the floor, exposing a succulent portion of her upper thighs. I tried to meditate, schooling my mind to imagine anything else besides what she was wearing under that tight dress. She was done far too soon for my liking, and we proceeded upstairs.
I told her to sit on the couch and cover her eyes. Amazingly, she complied immediately without even a single question. I levitated the pile of gifts onto the coffee table and told her to open her eyes. I removed the charm and they popped into sight, startling a delighted gasp from her. “Are these for me?” she asked, eyes shining.
I scoffed, “Silly girl. Who else would they be for?”
I stood off to the side with my arms crossed, casually looking away, feigning indifference.
She grabbed the top one from the pile and examined it, “Did you wrap these yourself? Master Snape…” She flushed with bashful pleasure.
She opened the box from the pet store first, gasped, then laughed gaily. “You got presents for Crookshanks?? You are just the sweetest thing…” she gushed. She moved on to the gift bag of candy, immediately shoving a dark chocolate-raspberry truffle in her mouth and offering one to me, despite the fact that we’d just eaten three meals worth of food in one sitting. She was thrilled about her self-inking quill, exclaiming that it was the next-best thing to being able to write with a pen like a civilized person. I chuckled at her comment then turned to watch her open the big gift.
She hummed in curiosity when she saw the Madame Malkin’s seal on the sturdy white box. She unwrapped the robes from their golden tissue paper, pulling them out with a flourish. There was a sharp intake of breath as the firelight caught the finely-constructed black garment. She ran her fingers over the enchanted fabric, marveling that it was soft and thick like suede, but light as gossamer. Excitedly, she pulled it over her shoulders and buttoned the intricate frog closures. The sleeves and hem automatically adjusted to the perfect length for her body. She unfastened it and searched the countless pockets that had been sewn into the lining. Some were shallow and cushioned, perfect for tiny, delicate items. She buried her arm up the shoulder in others. She grabbed an enormous tome off the bookshelf and dropped it into one of the largest pockets. It immediately disappeared, and she laughed in surprised delight, “I can’t feel the weight at all! This is INCREDIBLE!!!”
She ran across the room and leapt into my arms, throwing her hands over my shoulders. I lifted her up, clasping her tightly to me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten in my entire life! I can’t image how much this cost! How much all this cost! I can’t believe you did this for me… You are so amazing and so thoughtful, Sir. The incredible dinner, and all the expensive gifts… You are so good to me… Always so good to me…” she gushed. Her legs were wrapped around my hips, and her face was pressed to my neck. I could feel her lips against my skin as she spoke, sending shivers down my spine with each word. After a while my arms started to get sore, so I let her slip back down to the floor.
She refused to let go of me, though, nuzzling my chest and snaking her arms around my waist inside my robes. I smoothed back her flyaway curls, relishing their soft delicacy. My mind was a fog, utterly obscured by fierce joy and all-consuming desire. I wanted her soft hands under my shirt, against my skin, so badly I ached for it. As if hearing my thoughts, she slowly, tentatively, lifted up the back of my shirt, and placed one tiny, perfect palm against my spine. I let out an involuntary groan, and the second hand joined the first. The sensation of her baby-soft skin on my own rough, scarred hide was intoxicating. Heat spread from our point of contact, making me feel flushed and dizzy.
My cock throbbed with each irregular beat of my heart. I finally let my hands wander from their place of relative safety on her shoulders. I placed the right on her lower back, pulling her yet tighter against my rock-hard erection. She wiggled deliciously against me, making soft whimpering noises. With my left hand I gripped the side of her hip, wrapping my fingers around her narrow waist. Through the skin-tight material of her dress, I could feel her sharp hipbone under my thumb, and the top seam of her knickers against my little finger.
Our breathing was heavy and ragged, and I could feel both of our hearts pounding as we pressed against each other. “Why did you do all this, Sir?” she whispered, nearly inaudible.
“Because it’s Christmas holiday and I wanted to,” I responded, my voice rough with passion.
“I feel bad I didn’t get you…” she began. “Hush,” I murmured sensually, “you’ve given me so much more than you could ever imagine, Hermione.”
She looked up at me then, and her cheeks and lips were deliciously pink. “Severus…” she whispered, slowly, cautiously, questioningly.
My throat tightened with emotion at the sound of my name, and my right hand reached for her face of its own accord. The gold flecks in her eyes glimmered in the firelight; her flawless, freckled skin seemed to glow from within. Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes kept flickering to my own parted lips. I stroked her cheek ever-so-lightly with my palm, then held her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Her entire body quivered, and her breaths came out gasping and uneven. I looked deeply and intently into her eyes, searching for doubt, for fear, for anything but the dark lust I knew clouded my own.
As if in a trance, I touched my thumb, gingerly, to her plump lower lip. It was deliciously warm, velvety, wet… her lips pursed, kissing the pad of my thumb… oh merlin, oh gods… then she was taking my thumb between her lips, so hot, so wet, and all of a sudden it was in her mouth, she was sucking on it gently, her hooded eyes staring sensually into my own. Her tongue swirled around my finger tip, my cock throbbed with pleasure as if it were the one feeling her ministrations… A loud groan burst from my mouth, and it took every ounce of willpower I had to not sweep her up in my arms, carry her into my bedroom, and ravish her to within an inch of her life.
I removed my finger from her delicious attentions and gripped her firmly by the back of the neck. My other hand had wandered of its own accord and was now resting on her tight ass… I could feel the seams of her underwear…. I imagined yanking them down her thighs, kneeling before her, lifting that sexy fucking dress, burying my face in her delicious little cunt, bringing her to orgasm over and over and over again until she collapsed from sheer exhaustion…
Her eyes hadn’t left my own intense gaze. Our faces moved closer, closer, closer… I loomed over her, she was stretched up on tip-toes, I could feel her hot breath on my lips, my hair fell into her face…
We were so close now that I couldn’t make out any of her features. My hand firmly massaged the base of her neck. Her nails were digging aggressively into my back. I squeezed her delicious little ass, and I could feel the vibration of her quiet moan on my own lips. “Hermione…” I groaned desperately…
Then, a searing fire roared to life in my left arm, and I fell away from her with a screamed string of filthy curses. I bellowed in frustration, punched the wall, and stormed into my room. Hermione followed me, concern written all over her face. I threw my Death Eater robes over my button-down shirt and trousers and secured the masque to my face. She took a small involuntary step backwards when I turned around to face her. She said nothing, but followed me all the way to the front door. I started to turn the knob but she grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face her. “Please be careful!” she whispered as she wrapped me in a quick, panicky hug. Tears were beginning to stream from her eyes as I grunted my acknowledgment, opened the door, and apparated away.
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Madrigal