Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 80085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
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
- 24
- 25
- 26
A/N: Second last chapter . . . I think :) DSxx
Kvarta – I hope your neck pain and your fever have improved since your trip. You might need to slow down just a bit :) ‘Through the whole story, I had a small and distant feeling like all of it is...real and not real at the same time’ – I’m glad that has come across, certainly I wanted her mental trauma to leave her second guessing the world and for the reader to feel it with her. ‘I have high hopes that your story won't be a sad one.’ – Let me just say, there is still hope xx
Einhornfee – ‘So, I've re-read this whole story twice within the past week because I needed to understand’ – wow, that’s commitment :) This is a pretty twisty story and there are lots of subtle clues throughout that are probably easy to miss on the first read so I’m pleased that you liked it enough to go back and find them :) ‘it is now on her to save him ... I hope!’ – hmmm, more on that in this chapter! ‘I'm willing to beg you, dear DS!’ – Oh yes, please do! xx
Erexen – Wow, I was moved by your review so much. It sounds like you have had such a difficult time and for my stories to make some impact is just wonderful. ‘Sometimes the simplicity of another human to share love is the best balm for the soul’ – I loved this as it is really the essence of what this story is about. I can’t promise an HEA but I will tell you that there is definitely still hope. And your kind words about the end of my relationship were so generous and heartfelt, I really am incredibly humbled. Love and best wishes to you xx
OO – Don’t worry, I haven’t even managed a shitty review for your next chapters. I have had so many things on that I have taken any spare time to write as things are getting pretty close to the end here. I promise I will be back very soon xx ‘Hermione is the quintessential yin to his yang, all vitality and passion to his insular self-denial.’ – Ooh I love that, pretty damn good for a shitty review ;) x

Chapter 25 – Dualmaster
“I can give you what you need, Severus,” Hermione whispered, trickling the fingers of both hands up his neck to rest against the tight planes of his jaw. Her gaze dipped down into the dark pools of his eyes. “If you will let me?”
Despite fatigue infusing them with an almost-fathomless depth, Hermione saw a spark—a flicker of heat, dancing defiantly in his jet black irises. And the bleak fog that had descended over them both seemed to lift just a fraction. The simple fact that she might seek to bring him any sort of relief, and that he might trust her to do so was sufficient to inject, not necessarily hope, but a shot of welcome warmth, rallying against the sense of loss that had left her steeped in bitter cold.
Lifting a hand, he executed little more than a brief curl of his fingers before the leather flogger darted like a tailed baton from the shadows. Taking her by the wrist, he gently folded the handle into her palm.
He did trust her. She could see it in his eyes. He trusted that she now understood him; that she had grown and learned from his lessons which, as she had always suspected, were as much about him as they had been about her.
Unfolding herself from his lap, Hermione took Severus by the hand and eased him out of his chair, the stiffness in his long limbs making it clear that he had occupied his spot by the fire for some hours. He followed her in slow, barefooted strides into the bedroom until she stopped and turned, bringing their interlocked hands to her lips. She kissed his knuckles, placing her lips against each peak and hollow in turn before pausing to suck gently on his smallest knuckle, watching him from under her eyelashes.
Stepping up close, he grasped her chin. That elusive smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, before he leaned down to take her lips once again, consuming her gradually, as though savouring the succulent flesh of sweet, ripe fruits. Her knees trembled against the emotional exhaustion wrought by the day, but also the relief of being so close to him again.
His own taste was a blend of woody herbs, smoke, whisky and . . . Severus. It was deliciously intoxicating, so uniquely him, and even though she desperately wanted to be less desperate, to take her time, she had very little remaining—perhaps even none. And so she lifted her wand and, as they kissed, began to strip away his clothing, peeling off his shirt to expose the warm curves of his bare chest and the solid rounds of his shoulders before moving to his trousers, a murmured seam splitting spell causing them to ooze from his hips, down his thighs, until he stood naked, a veritable feast as she finally pulled away to allow her gaze to roam gratuitously over every inch. After all, she’d all but given up on ever seeing him like that again.
Drawn to the dark thatch at his groin, her palm skimmed over the downy softness there before seeking out the silken warmth that she had missed terribly. His cock was already jutting towards her belly, she could practically feel it filling as she took it within her grasp.
“I missed you,” she murmured, lips against his chest, ghosting back and forth over one tight nipple.
Tunnelling his fingers into her hair, he pulled her even closer as he rubbed away the knots of tension in her scalp.
She sighed.
He knew exactly what she needed. Always.
And finally she could reciprocate.
“I think I’ll have you over there, holding onto the mantel.” She turned her face toward the fireplace where a small fire was flickering in its hearth.
He stepped back then, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he appraised her—an acknowledgement perhaps, of how far she had come.
Moving with greater ease, in fact a languid grace that communicated total relaxation about following her instruction, he moved to the fire, bent forward at the hips and grasped the mantel with both hands.
Hermione moved up behind him.
It was so very different this time.
For some reason she was no longer looking at him as an object separate from herself, projecting her sympathies onto him, putting her discomfort at the fore. This time she felt him. She felt what he wanted and she understood why. And so when she started, lashing the tails smartly across his buttocks, she found the solid smack and subsequent reddening surprisingly satisfying.
She followed up again—and again—navigating by instinct, following the ebb and flow of their combined energies. And she didn’t so much as watch him as absorb his responses, building the stimulation steadily until she was groaning with him, sharing his release.
The power and connection was so erotic, and Hermione found watching him so arousing—the way he surged and gyrated as he moaned, his substantial cock beating against his abdomen with each swift jerk of her arm—that eventually she could take it no more, dropping the flogger and throwing herself at him, gripping him from behind as she sank her teeth into his shoulder-blade.
A guttural groan burst from him as his head arched back. But it wasn’t a cry of pain. And when he twisted around, dislodging her, she could see why.
His teeth were bared, his temples slick with perspiration, but his eyes burned with naked lust. And the intensity with which he now grabbed her seemed to be fuelled by the same desperation that was driving her.
A shiver of exhilaration rolled down her spine. She wanted him to unleash all of what she could see roiling around inside him, into her. And as he pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, the coarse gravel in his voice as he growled, “You need to be fucked,” broke her and she whimpered, lips parting to nip sharply at his shoulder.
Grasping her jaw with strong fingers, he crushed his mouth into hers as he drove her backwards towards the bed. Her clothes fell off wordlessly, wandlessly, and she might have fallen at the last moment except that his arm suddenly swept around her, ushering her in one smooth gesture onto the bedclothes. The softness beneath her was instantly countered by the hardness of the body that descended, full length, onto her, trapping her in breathless wonder. It seemed incredible that she’d never even sat on his bed before, particularly considering how much sex they’d already engaged in but lying on it for the first time, sandwiched under his delicious body, it felt like something she would give anything to get used to.
“It seems that you have come to appreciate the innate charms of the flogger,” he murmured, his face hovering mere inches above hers.
“Of the flogee . . . in fact,” she responded, her words rendered little more than a whisper with the weight on him on her chest.
He tilted his head to look deep into her and she wondered if he understood just how hard she had fallen.
“Indeed.” The word spilled gently enough from his lips but she felt his entire body thrumming with the barest restraint. He was clearly winding up to make good on his declaration that she needed fucking. And, as far as Hermione was concerned, it couldn’t come soon enough. She was beyond desperate—and that was because she knew he would fuck her in exactly the way she needed.
Lifting himself on one elbow, he snaked his other hand down between their bodies, sliding over her mons and trailing down her inner thigh before curling below her buttocks and pulling upwards, arching his body to lift her leg between them until he was able to slide her calf onto his shoulder. It was at times like these that she sensed just how much he understood her body, its natural capabilities and limits. Grasping her other thigh, he pushed it aside so that her openings were fully exposed and then he pressed his weight down upon her, forcing her leg even further back as he simultaneously alighted with tongue and lips onto her mouth and slid the fingers of one hand into both openings at once.
“Uuhhhh,” she moaned, fingers curling into his muscular shoulders as his own fingers thrust and curled inside her. There was something so visceral about being compressed and impaled at once; it felt incredibly intense, especially with his tongue fucking her open mouth at the same time. And despite his considerable presence and the way she was pinned beneath him, she managed to curl and arch her hips in time with his plunging fingers, forcing him deeper inside her.
“It’s a pleasure to feel you fighting for what you want,” he murmured against her lips.
It was such a subtle inference that she didn’t quite understand it at first. But as he continued to kiss her deeply, his fingers delving into her increasingly lubricious openings, the meaning of his words finally coalesced. She had always fought. Standing up for what was right was central to her being—a core part of her identity. At least it had been. But the war had somehow transformed her, stealing away that fierce commitment, until she barely recognised herself. She’d become so passive, self-pitying, a victim, unable to stand up for herself, let alone anyone else. Indeed, she’d not even been able to bring herself to fight for her own survival. Without his intervention in the tower she wouldn’t even be here, with him, looking back on her own recovery with tears in her eyes.
He had wanted her to be strong. He’d gone to great lengths to make her understand the power that still resided within her, despite how hopeless she felt. His unconventional teachings had been all about forcing her to know herself more intimately, to understand her inherent potency in an effort to establish her independence from the guilt and self-loathing that was gradually consuming her.
And she could admit now that it had worked. She’d gradually come to understand his lessons but, unfortunately for him, the strength he’d instilled had only ended up fortifying her resolve to pursue her parents’ restoration, not to declare, as he might have wanted, her freedom from the dangers of attachment.
She wondered then if that was what he had attempted to secure in his own life. Did he see safety in isolation?
Her heart suddenly clenched. Was that why he had sacrificed himself? Was this an attempt to undermine his own attachment . . . to her?
After all, the way he was kissing her now, gradually sinking into her like a man content to drown; the way he reached into her body, as though desperate to feel her most intimate recesses, to etch them into his memory for when they were taken away, it was quite clear that he was neither free, nor safe—he was helplessly bound, as was she.
But could she risk confronting the true purpose of his actions?
No.
Not when they were so precariously balanced—only a tenuous thread holding them together. In these final moments, she wanted to be his, and for him to do with her as he wished. After all, his desires and her own were so closely aligned that everything he did simply opened her up to more of what she wanted. And when his fingers slipped out of her and were suddenly replaced by something new, slithering over her nether regions . . . tendrils . . . cool metal . . . her heart started racing.
She couldn’t deny that she’d imagined the sensation already—the shock, the biting sting as the studded flogger lashed her labia. But that didn’t appear to be his plan. At least not for now. The feathery tails were soon replaced by the sensation of the flared knob of the handle slipping up and down her cleft. A muttered spell against her cheek and then she felt the tracking stop and the pressure start to build at her anus. Inhaling sharply, she grasped the bedclothes in her fist as the freshly lubricated head pulsed insistently against her constriction. She found her muscles naturally starting to pulse with it, admitting its considerable size in tiny increments. Finally she felt the knob slip past her sphincter, delving deeper before he began thrusting and that’s when she lost all sense of coherence.
His cock had been so huge inside her that first time that it had all been about coping, at least initially. But this was entirely different, it was intense but not at all uncomfortable, and each time the handle twisted and thrust, stimulating her back passage, a string of exclamations and expletives slurred from her lips that she barely understood but couldn’t seem to stop.
She was vaguely aware of him lifting her other leg, then a new pressure at her pussy, the head of his cock nudged inside her compressed opening as the flogger continued to stroke—it had clearly been charmed to continue fucking her. Moments later, he grasped her upper arms and thrust his cock in to the hilt, causing her to arch up between her own thighs, now pressed against either side of her torso.
As her breaths faltered, a tight moan escaping her, he began to pump, alternating with the flogger that seemed to have grown considerably, or perhaps it was just the sensation of being filled to capacity.
“Severus . . . Severus . . .,” she groaned, the word a rhythmic accompaniment to each solid intrusion.
“I’m here,” he whispered in her ear and she instantly released the bedclothes, digging her fingers into his back, holding on with everything she had.
The steady susurration of his breath against her neck, the flexion of his muscles under her hands, the straining weight of him folding her in half, and the sensation of her most intimate passages being plunged as comprehensively as possible consumed her . . . and suddenly she was floating again. She sensed the synchronicity of it all, the way her own breaths and her own heart merged with the rhythm of the rest, and she no longer felt like she was being fucked by someone external to her, but that he was inside her, and she was fucking herself, drawing each element of him into her own pleasure.
It was so pure that when she finally gathered to come, it wasn’t the unholy wail that she might have expected but a breathy sigh of exaltation that flowed from her throughout her deliverance, as her entire body shuddered and quaked, erupting over and over into itself until she was left clenching and stuttering around the two shafts that had taken her there but hadn’t diminished in their intensity.
When she finally opened her eyes, she found that he was looking at her.
She saw the need ticking through his features as he continued to thrust home, harder and harder. But there was also a stark vulnerability there. It was as he’d indicated in the beginning—two cocks fighting for supremacy inside her, the two versions of himself, battling it out.
But he wasn’t a stag . . . not the one he’d touted to win. He was a doe.
After James and Harry, had he come to expect that only the stags would ever prevail?
Her heart and body were overflowing with him. She had accepted him. All of him. And if he wanted her, she was his, he had won . . . twice.
If only for this moment.
She gazed into his eyes, wondering if he could feel everything that was churning around inside her—sadness, fury, love.
It made her so angry that a man like him should think so little of himself. After everything he had sacrificed in the service of others. And that he wouldn’t have an opportunity, even now, to live the life of peace that he deserved.
But, as he had said, she was a fighter. And she happened to consider him very much worth fighting for.
“I love you, Severus.” She gripped him with determination. “I love you however you may come.”
His face collapsed then, as though he had only just been holding on, and then he came, his vocalisations more sobs than groans.
She didn’t stop holding him, even as the jerks of his cock and the pumping flogger died inside her. When he finally did move, it was to gently remove the embedded handle and to slide her legs back down, allowing her to draw her first full breath in a long time.
He lifted his face to look at her then, his eyes bloodshot, his brow creased in an open expression of pain.
“Love?” he repeated hoarsely. “After everything that has happened? After all that you know of me?”
She nodded slowly.
He shook his head despondently.
“Why can’t you believe that of me?” she asked earnestly. “Or, more importantly, why can’t you believe it of yourself?”
“I considered that it would resolve . . . when you improved.”
Hermione looked at him incredulously. “This is not some aberration, Severus. It’s not just some troubled attachment that I’ll grow out of. It’s happened twice. Don’t you see?” She searched both of his eyes, trying to find understanding. “This isn’t something that needs to right itself. You are worthy of love . . . and I have fallen in love with you.”
“But . . .” he floundered, his lips attempting to formulate some sort of rebuttal, “. . . it’s of no use.”
“Yes it is.”
He blinked at her, his brow creasing further in consternation. “What do you mean?”
She lifted a hand to his cheek, attempting to reassure him.
“You will tell the Ministry that I cast the Obliviation reversal.”
His head jerked back in shock. “I will not.”
“You will,” she stated firmly.
“And if you don’t tell them . . . I will.”
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At the Headmaster’s Discretion *Complete*

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete