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Doing it for the Order Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 72679 -:- 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
- 23
- 24
- 25
A/N: In response to a couple of questions I’ve received, the ‘magic’ contraceptive potion can be taken before or after intercourse, and works for 1-2 days to prevent conception (please don’t ask me for the exact details) ;) DSx
Faerieduster – ‘*loopy heart eyes*’ hahah, love it!
I’m loving it – ‘watch them cuddle and kiss in front of the chimney’ – yes, hopefully they are in for a little more of that. ‘Although I imagine there will be other dilemmas to solve otherwise, it would mean that the story is next to its end and nobody wants that’ – I think you may be onto something ;)
Kvarta – ‘tho my dishes would suggest otherwise’ – LOL, join the club! ‘making me go back and forth between the stories :/’ – Holy crap, I could never do that, my brain is messed up enough with one. ‘Only thing that comes to mind is when she hid herself under the covers’ – yes, when she went under the covers and moved up to the opposite side of the bed, she was (removing) and hiding it (so talented!). ‘Always hurts to remember how oblivious he is towards himself and his own actions – yes, it goes against the grain for him to accept what he has done for others for years. ‘Something to shoot ours (readers) ripped nerves’ – there will be a (brief) reprieve ;)
JadedFate – So pleased you liked that one. Did you check out the ‘Hysterical Literature’ website?
Fox – ‘Of course I never had any one watching me - as far as I know’ – this is true, would that have made it better or worse? ‘Is it really too much to wish, the poor guy got some happiness in his life for once?’ – I hope not . . . ‘our dark, dangerous and big-cocked hero managed to save her’ – god that killed me – too funny! ‘but why Snape must always be turned into a blood-leaking pancake?’ – for dramatic effect of course! ‘Maybe I'm wrong, but I think he runs out of options.’ – I have a sense you might be right. ‘Ohh you know how to raise hysteria levels in your readers.’ – all it takes is the Dark Lord and a bunch of Death Eaters ;) ‘but I would of course prefer fly on the wall or Lucius POV’ – your wish is granted but he’s unfortunately not as sexy as you might like. ‘I was away from you for 24 days during which you have written 10 chapters.’ – I didn’t actually know that but I knew I’d been going a little crazy with it over my holidays. ‘I think it is a very sensual name’ – I do too but there are links with sever and severe that do give it other connotations. ‘I would let him fuck me, only if I had ear pluggs to cut out the bullshit’ – bahaha, I’d probably need general anaesthetic for this Luci I’m afraid :) ‘I hope Sexy Lu will not develop some kind of obsession over Hermione’ – that’s an interesting thought, I hadn’t really considered it but now it’s in my brain and who knows what it will do in there!
OO – ‘And she WAS being sneaky on the bed!’ – yes, you were onto it! And now you know why she needed to stretch before the meet! ‘You would know, without a doubt, just how utterly insane I really am’ – hahah, I so love your insanity. ‘No don't tell me! I was only thinking out loud’ – keep thinking, that’s how I get my ideas! <3
Leo – Thank you so much. I’m so pleased you’re enjoying kiss-ass Hermione :)

Chapter 24 – Filling Orders

Severus strode from the Apparition point onto the mist-shrouded road, Hermione’s limp body held tightly in his arms. He glanced down at her face, eyes closed, lips fallen apart, the moon’s milky glow turning her pale skin almost translucent. Each time his gaze ventured downward, he was jolted anew by a fresh surge of anger and guilt. She had done this for him. He was responsible. And yet she wouldn’t have been there if events had unfolded as planned. It should have been him—in this state or worse.
Gritting his teeth, he sped up despite the pain in his knee, she needed to be somewhere warm and safe.
As he approached the castle, two figures materialised out of the mist—shoulder to shoulder in the centre of the road, waiting.
“Thank Merlin!” Minerva’s voice reached him before she took a few hesitant steps forward, raising a hand to touch his arm.
But he brushed past, continuing to forge toward the distant illumination of the castle.
“Severus!” Dumbledore hurried to catch up to him. “How is she?”
“Alive,” he growled. “Little thanks to you.”
“You must understand,” Albus puffed as he struggled to maintain Severus’ pace. “She would not be dissuaded.”
Severus stopped abruptly. “She’s a seventeen-year-old girl!” he cried, a violent blast of steam bursting from his mouth. “A student! Under our care! Have you forgotten?” He glared at Dumbledore, whose tired features appeared grim and drawn. “Not everyone is fucking expendable,” he spat before turning and continuing toward the castle.
“Poppy has been alerted, Severus,” Dumbledore called forlornly after him.
“She will recover in my chambers. Under my care.”
As he drew swiftly away, Minerva placed a hand on the Headmaster’s shoulder. “Leave him.”
Albus sighed. “It is too easy to judge a decision by the outcome, not the intention.”
“And what was the intention?” Minerva asked. “To keep him alive? And to risk her life as a result?”
Albus continued to watch the receding figures. “Or to allow love to run its course . . .?”
“Perhaps.” Minerva nodded in acknowledgement. “And perhaps now we should just be grateful that we still have them both.”
***
He lay beside her, gently stroking her hair back from her forehead. He’d cast a number of healing incantations but, since she was still unconscious, there was little more he could do apart from letting her know that he was there. It was what had helped him most when she’d stayed with him after his experience with the enchantment’s punishment—her touch had helped to draw him back.
But she’d been unconscious for so much longer already. He checked the mantel clock—3 a.m. Sliding down further under the covers, he rested his head on the pillow beside her, watching the subtle tremor of her nostrils with each breath.
He was immeasurably tired but he wanted to be there, awake and present, when she opened her eyes. In a way, he also wanted to be the first thing she saw, not because he fancied himself as being able to provide any particular comfort, but he’d been there when she’d dropped into unconsciousness and he considered that the continuity may help her to regain her bearings.
And he did happen to find watching her deeply comforting. For hours now he had simply observed her, taking in the elegant contours of her features, the graceful lines and soft hues, as well as every subtle twitch, sigh and flutter.
He knew that on some level it was reassurance—confirmation that they were both still alive. But another potent effect of watching her was the gradual attenuation of the fatalistic mindset that he’d forged in the infirmary. He hadn’t expected to survive the evening. And he’d arranged everything to that end. He’d ensured that all of his affairs were in order, discussed a succession strategy for his teaching, which Dumbledore had assured him Slughorn could manage (somehow omitting certain other vital information), and had resigned himself to never seeing her again.
On one occasion, however, he had succumbed. Against Poppy’s wishes, he’d left the infirmary to sit in one of the high towers and watch her by the lake, talking and laughing with friends. He knew she would be angry that he’d not said goodbye. After all, she’d already told him she expected him to want to survive, if only to repay her investment.
Still, the condition that she should attend a Death Eater gathering was never one he could entertain. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to ask. It had been inconceivable. And yet, she’d appeared—like a knife to the stomach.
And she’d saved him . . . again. As she did every week.
In some ways he could forgive Dumbledore for forgetting—as he often had—that she was only seventeen.
Not only did she possess a razor-sharp intelligence, she also exhibited an uncommon level of emotional fortitude, unwavering tenacity and an exceptional commitment to moral integrity—so much so such that her final words had slain him . . . ‘Because I’m yours.’
The memory still made his heart waver, on the verge of caving in. Grasping her hand between his, he traced his thumb in slow circles around the centre of her palm. Her eyebrow twitched a fraction before he felt her fingers flex within his. Keeping up the stimulation, he watched as her head jerked a little toward him. Then her eyes fluttered and opened.
She squinted at him before her face crumpled.
“Shit, that hurts,” she whimpered.
He cast another wandless healing spell and started massaging her head until her grimace had softened, allowing himself a small smile when her eyes fell closed again.
“Hermione, don’t go back to sleep,” he murmured.
“Uhhh,” she moaned, sliding her limbs around feebly between the sheets. “I need . . . to lie on you.”
A second twitch captured his lips as he gently rolled her onto his chest. Her limbs sank comfortably between his as her head settled onto his heart. Her breathing immediately began to slow.
“You need to stay awake, Hermione.” He lifted his head fractionally to look at her.
“I can’t . . .” she groaned against his skin. “You . . . help.”
His abdomen clenched, trying to stave off a chuckle. He had a feeling it might not be appreciated in that moment.
“How do you want me to help,” he asked, his voice still betraying his amusement as he tunnelled his fingers into her hair and rubbed his fingertips against her scalp.
“Sing.”
Then he had to snort.
“I don’t.”
She fell silent. He could hear her breathing begin to slow and regulate.
“Hermione?”
“Hum then,” came her muffled response.
He raised both eyebrows. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hummed. It required a degree of light-heartedness that he hadn’t likely felt for two or three decades. But—if it was going to help her remain awake.
The first song that came into his head was Handel’s ‘Sarabande’. In fact his mother had hummed it when whipping up an impressive cleaning storm around the house when he was a child.
Watching her rise as he drew in a deep breath, he started to hum. He was surprised how easily the tune came back to him, the years melting away. And as she lay there, he could see that her eyelashes remained open—she was listening. Although admittedly it would be difficult not to as she was practically lying on the source of the sound.
When he finished, she was quiet for a moment.
“More,” she rasped.
It was like having a demanding toddler on his chest. But he figured she’d earned herself the right to be as childish and grumpy as she liked. And it happened to make him smile.
So he hummed a little more—parts of songs—some he remembered from school, others from home, ones from when he listened to the radio on the odd occasion that he returned to Spinner’s End.
And she lay there, rising and falling on his chest, tapping her fingers against his bicep.
Gradually the tapping diminished.
“Hermione?”
No response. She was fast asleep. And he was on the verge of delirium.
There was no point in waking her again. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on top of her head.
Settling back, he released a long breath realising that, despite everything, the overriding emotion he felt in that moment was happiness. It felt tenuous and potentially transient but also like a gift—one that he’d never expected to receive again in his life.
***
Her vagina hurt. It throbbed. He must have fucked her pretty hard last night. But she couldn’t even remember it. Was it against the door again? Or had he just fingered her? He must have a pretty bloody big finger. He had a big cock. She knew that. But it didn’t usually make her feel like this. Maybe she’d cast Histomalleus on it. Maybe she’d made it into some sort of giant—
“What are you smiling at?”
Her eyes flew open. She was lying on him again.
How did they end up here? Had he come back from the infirmary?
And as she looked into his face, those lovely black eyes, it all came flooding back, hitting her like a tidal wave.
“It’s alright,” he murmured, grasping her upper arm.
But it wasn’t. She’d been brave for too long. She started to cry. She cried. And cried. And cried. And he held her, and wiped her face with the edge of the sheet, and rubbed her back, and conjured a glass of water, and helped her to the toilet for a pee which hurt like hell, and stood outside the shower as she scrubbed and cried. And finally, when she’d run out of tears and could barely breathe through a stuffy nose, he made her a cup of tea and toast in bed.
He was wearing that black dressing gown again, sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand resting on her knee as she ate. She didn’t say a word throughout—it turned out that she was really bloody hungry. But when she’d slurped down the last of her tea, she told him.
“I’m not sorry.”
He considered her a moment. “Not sorry about what?”
“I’m not sorry that I did it.”
He looked down at the floor between his bare feet. He wished she hadn’t done it—for what she’d put herself through. But sitting here with her in his bed, he couldn’t help but be grateful.
Returning his gaze to her, he nodded.
“And can we never talk about it again? Unless absolutely necessary?”
He gave a second nod.
“And do you have some sort of balm for my vagina? It really hurts.”
“Of course.”
He stood and moved over to a cabinet where he instantly snapped up a glass jar.
As he returned, Hermione placed her breakfast tray on the ground before looking up at him.
“Will you apply it?”
“You’re under my care. So it would only be appropriate.”
Her lips curled into a grin but still she grasped his hand as he sat down beside her. “Be gentle.”
“I’m always gentle.” His mouth hitched up sexily at the corner.
“Not . . . always,” she breathed, suddenly needing to kiss him.
Hooking a hand around his neck, she pulled him to her and they kissed—warm, sensual and delicious.
Sighing, she leaned back and pushed the covers down before spreading her legs. She was still naked, and as far as she could tell by the absence of clothing anywhere nearby, she’d probably seen the last of Parvati’s dress . . . and possibly her bag and shoes. At least her wand seemed to have made it back, lying next to his on the bedside table.
Scooping some cream onto one finger, he watched her closely for signs of pain as he started by dabbing a little at her entrance. She winced but nodded at him to continue. Gradually he slid his finger inside and she inhaled rapidly, fisting the sheet in her hands. Waiting for her gaze to return to his, he continued to massage the balm deeper inside her. Gradually she started to relax, her legs easing apart and her fingers unfurling.
By the time he’d finished, her eyelids had dropped and her mouth was slack—she looked almost drugged.
A lazy smile curled her lips. “That feels soooo much better.”
He snorted gently as he returned the lid to the balm and wandlessly dismissed it to the cabinet.
Reaching out, she grabbed his hand. “Can you go in there?”
It was pretty clear what she was asking. He shook his head. “The contraceptive will be in your system for another day or so.”
She couldn’t have looked more disappointed.
“But I can always . . . improvise.”
Her face lit up. “Please.”
Black eyes shining with amusement, he moved closer, leaning over to capture her lips with his. Her arms slipped around his neck and she moaned as his finger slid inside her. His other hand went to her breast and kneaded it before his fingertips closed around her nipple, rolling gently.
“Two?” he murmured against her lips.
She nodded quickly.
Slipping a second digit in beside the first, he felt her pelvis curl in to meet his thrust. She must be feeling better.
He was just so . . . delicious. She never tired of exploring his bold features with her lips, of tasting every crevice with her tongue. And the supple rhythm of his hand inside her was simply exquisite, even despite the residual discomfort. She wondered again how he’d managed to ejaculate so soon after receiving the punishment. It was really fucking painful. Or perhaps her early awkward attempts to stimulate him hadn’t been so bad. Maybe she had a . . . knack. She smiled to herself. Not as much of a knack as he had, obviously, but still.
And then she felt him slipping through her hands, moving downward. Hot kisses left a smouldering trail from her earlobe to the base of her neck, before he tripped with a delicious flick of his tongue over her collar bone and continued his open-mouthed journey over her breast until he reached her nipple. Engulfing it, he sucked the sensitive peak forcefully into his mouth as his fingers flexed inside her, pressing against her walls.
She gasped and writhed under him, clutching his hair in both fists. Then he continued on, skimming lips and tongue across her abdomen and flicking with another erotic jolt into her navel before slipping down to settle between her pussy lips, his moist tip delicately reacquainting itself with her clitoris.
She just had to watch this. Straining her head up she glimpsed his delicious pink muscle laving and jostling her throbbing nub as his fingers continued to pump into her. He had the most beautiful mouth. And as she watched his sensuous lips fold around her clitoris, she felt her core contract with desire.
She had no intention of dwelling upon the comparison, but when she considered what some men (or creepy arseholes), assumed was erotic for women and what actually was erotic, she realised that they could be worlds apart. Fortunately she had found someone who was so in tune with her desires, and his own, that she felt herself on the verge of exploding with more than just physical need. Building inside her was an intense ball of emotional energy that she felt might shoot through her just like that fucking enchantment when she came. But this one wouldn’t be sordid and hateful. This one would be filled with . . . love.
“Gods, Severus!” she cried out as she erupted, the overwhelming surge of sensation spilling over as tears. As her channel pulsed, she felt him still ensconced within her and she relished the sensation of coming around him. Clutching his head to her, she writhed, his delectable tongue continuing to lave until she shuddered to completion.
Withdrawing his fingers from her, he made to sit up but before he could move, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him toward her so that she could kiss his wonderfully attentive lips, tasting her own muskiness on them and finding that she loved it.
Then she hugged him to her breasts and he lay there, arms nestled under either side of her body. As she revelled in the comfort of his weight upon her, she played with his hair—twining the soft ebony locks around her fingers in the same way she did to her own.
“I probably need to be getting back to my room before I’m missed,” she said finally, looking with resignation at the mantel clock.
“Not unless you need something specific. The Headmaster’s aware that you’re staying with me,” he spoke into her breasts.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “And he agreed to it?”
Severus sat up to regard her with dark, intense eyes. “Of course. You’re mine.”
- 23
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- 25
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Doing it for the Order *Complete*

Doing it for the Order Complete