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Talk Dirty To Me	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 20443 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters, nor do I make any money from this sordid little fic :)

Chapter List
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A/N: Thank you ALL for the lovely reviews ;) another update and happy Saturday!

“You look...different,” Harry told Hermione as they waited for their lunch to arrive.

“Yeah, like you’ve been dipped into faerie dust or something,” Fred offered, fiddling with his cutlery. “Unless you were sneaking under your desk at work and hitting the bottle. What’s going on, Hermione? Shacklebolt working you that hard where you need to go on the piss during the day?”

Mina had been feeling poorly at work the day before. The office was oddly silent without her usual quips riddled with inappropriate humour, and when she dutifully remained tethered to her desk, sluggishly making her way through a stack of files on her desk, Hermione immediately knew something was wrong. Kingsley had been on his way in the office from another meeting, which the Minister described as tedious, when he caught sight of the lethargic witch. Just as he began asking if she was all right, Mina’s face literally turned green and she nearly tipped out her chair in an effort to grab the bin from beneath her desk. Once she finished retching into it, Hermione discreetly vanished its contents with a flick of her wand. After dealing with Dark wizards and the like, a bit of sick was nothing for Kingsley to get skittish over. Instead, he plucked a handkerchief from his pocket, handing it to Mina while suggesting that she take the rest of the day off, and to stay home until she felt better.

The following day, with Mina gone, Hermione had been able to get more work done than usual, even going so far as to handle some of her friend’s share. Yet by lunchtime, she found herself with a bit of extra time on her hands. She had been in the middle of figuring out where to go for the hour when Harry swept into the office, offering to take her and her loud girlfriend to lunch. Once Hermione explained that Mina was out for the week, she noticed that her best friend appeared slightly crestfallen.

Upon first meeting Harry, the brash witch had no qualms with announcing that he was dishy, clearly enjoying the reddening of his ears. Every time Mina saw him after that, she would bat her eyelashes and played the role of a love-starved flirt, which would have been scary if she were serious.

On their walk out of the Ministry, Harry explained that they were going to meet their brother-in-law at the restaurant. Hermione groaned at that title, and explained that Fred was more Harry's brother-in-law than he was to her.

As expected, the mirthful redhead began his usual routine soon as they found him inside the restaurant.

“Be quiet, Fred,” Hermione now snapped, lowering her face to hide her glowing cheeks. She knew the reason for her shift in attitude; it had nothing to do with Kingsley or her workload, but she wasn’t about to offer any details.

“C’mon, Hermione,” Fred continued. “Who’s the poor sod that you’ve been keeping up all night? And why haven’t you brought him round yet?”

“Harry, why did you bring him and not George?” Hermione lamented, glaring at the source of her consternation. If only Fred knew how correct he was, even if in a roundabout sort of way...

“Georgie claimed he had an appointment with some highflier that wants to invest in our shop, but what I think is he was actually trying to give me the slip and meet with his new lady friend, the one he thinks I don’t know about,” Fred chortled. “Say, you two haven’t been skulking round, have you?”

It was plain that Fred was joking, yet didn’t keep Hermione from squealing in disgust.

“Gods, no! Besides that being irreprehensible because of Ron, it would be like kissing my brother. No thank you,” she told him, wrinkling her nose.

“Incestuous chat aside,” Harry chimed in, “even if I had invited George instead of Fred, they both still share that sick mind. Do you really think it would be any different?”

Hermione looked at Fred, who was grinning cheekily at her.

“Not a chance,” he offered, winking. “So, Hermione, you gonna tell us who you’ve been meeting the beasts with two backs with, or...?”

Hermione kicked Fred beneath the table, causing him to yelp and Harry to laugh. A minute later, the waiter appeared with their order, and the sight of food was enough to make everyone forget about Fred’s crude question. Well, Fred and Harry forgot once they had their mouths full of chips and perfectly battered cod. Hermione, on the other hand, was still reflecting on the reason for the sudden glow that Fred had been unable to resist calling attention to.

She still didn’t know anything about Mystery Man: not his name, occupation, or where he lived. Axe murderer was still ruled out, but fact remained, it could have been anyone on the other end of the computer. But it was undeniable: whoever he was, he was responsible for the fire rushing through her veins on a consistent basis, not to mention her constantly dampened knickers whenever they spoke, and that one tantalising dream that unfortunately occurred just once.

Hermione had been unable to see the man’s face in her dream, but he had a voice that felt like silk slipping over her skin as he crooned the filthiest, most unimaginable things into her ear while his fingers roamed the length of her body. No matter how much she’d begged him to go lower, he refused, and his fingers continued spanning across her abdomen, straying low enough to graze the top of the curls covering her sex.

Mentally rehashing her dream went on for so long that Hermione almost forgot about her meal. Unbeknownst to her, she was also biting on her bottom lip and had a faraway look in her eyes. Hermione daydreamed for so long that she didn't realise Fred had been calling her name for the past five minutes.

"What?"

"Are you going to eat before it gets cold?" asked Harry, gesturing to her most likely lukewarm food. "And Fred wanted to know if we should get dessert after this."

Hermione arched at a brow at the two, then picking up her fork. "How are you already thinking about sweets when we've only just got here?"

"Oh, we've been here long enough," Fred sniggered, looking down at his and Harry's half-empty plates. "I guess you became a bit preoccupied with fulfilling another appetite."

"If you plan on fulfilling your own appetite which you're indelicately hinting at ever again, then you should shut your mouth right now," Hermione threatened, gesturing to his lower body with a flicker of her eyes. "Eventually Angelina might forgive me."

"Now that's just not right, threatening a bloke's livelihood," Harry cringed, shaking his head.

The soft scraping of fork and knife moving against Hermione's plate filled in the brief silence as she smiled beatifically at both wizards.

"Whatever it takes to keep you both honest," she offered sweetly. "I suppose I stay out later if we go for pudding; Kingsley said that I didn't have to hurry back. Although, something tells me you'll be rolling me back to the office."

At that comment, Fred held out both hands with his palms facing Hermione, as if ready to commence the rolling.

"Overly literal idiot," she mumbled, shoving the last bit of her lunch into her mouth.

Ninety minutes later, Harry decided to remember that he was an Auror who was still on duty. After parting ways with Fred, he and Hermione walked arm in arm to one of the many secret places spread throughout the city that allowed witches and wizards admittance to the Ministry.

"So are you going to tell me who this person is?" asked Harry as they waited for the lift.

"Who what person is?"

"You know who I mean. This person that has you looking five years younger."

"Gee, thanks, Harry."

"I didn't mean it like that! Damn, now I wish I'd kept my mouth shut."

"Don't hurt yourself,” Hermione told him just as the lift arrived. Even though her office was on the first level, she told Harry that she would see him all the way to his, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was on level two. "Alright, fine. Yes, I've met someone but we've not actually met, and don't you judge me, either."

Harry's brows furrowed together. "How the hell are you two so chummy if you've never actually met one another?"

Hermione let out a sigh. "You're lucky there's no one else on this lift, because I would be too embarrassed to say otherwise. Mina signed me up for this website and we've been chatting online. By the way, thank you for keeping Mr. Weasley in check and from flooding my inbox."

"Don't remind me," said Harry, shaking his head. "Ginny and I dropped hint after hint that we were trying to be alone, but Mr. Weasley refused to leave the flat. He left only after Gin threatened to put him on punishment for a week and not let him come over if he didn't go right then. I'm sort of surprised he hasn't tried to build a computer in his shed."

Hermione stifled a laugh at the thought of Ginny chastising her father. She and Harry were now off the lift, walking down the corridor towards the office that Hermione had often frequented when she and Ron were dating. As they moved closer, it was apparent that Hermione had grown apprehensive.

"Oh, come on," Harry urged, seeing the look on her face. "Ron isn't in; he and Neville had some special assignment and they're going to be out all day. It's just me, Tonks, and Pritchard."

Hermione remained looking dubious but still kept walking with Harry.

"Who's Pritchard?"

Harry stopped in front of the door, peering in through the glass and focusing on something, or someone.

"That's Pritchard," he told Hermione, pulling her to stand in front of him while pointing to another wizard, who was sitting at a desk while a purple-haired Tonks stood over him, jabbering away about something.

Hermione nodded, taking in the long black hair and a different band t-shirt that wasn't dissimilar to Tonks'. Both looked out of place, as if they belonged in some rock band instead of working as Aurors.

"I think I saw him the other day," she murmured, moving away from the door so she wouldn't be caught peeking in. "He's new, right? Because I think I'd notice anyone that looked like—"

"Snape, right?" Harry cut in. "We all said the same thing. He'd be a dead ringer for a younger, more cheerful Snape, minus the whole creepy 'Mister Potter' thing or just POTTER! if he was extra brassed off, right before assigning me six months of detention, just so he'd have someone to skin caterpillars and do his Potions grunt work."

"You know, I was just thinking about him the other day," Hermione told him, peering through the glass once more.

"Pritchard?" was Harry's dim reply. "What the hell were you thinking about him for?"

"No, you pillock. Snape! I was wondering what happened to him. He sort of vanished into thin air, it seems."

"Yeah, well, the old tosser's still alive," Harry grumbled. "I forget who had correspondence with him last, and it was apparent that Snape wants to be left alone, but he's definitely still kicking and breathing. And snarling, from what I understand was the overall tone of that returned letter."

"Nice to see that you've laid old grudges to rest," Hermione commented, looking up to see Ron and Neville heading their way. "So much for them being out of the office all day," she muttered under her breath, furtively nodding in their direction. "Doesn't matter, seeing as I need to get back. Thanks for lunch, Harry. I'll see you later."

While her and Ron's breakup had been mutual for the most part, it was still a bit awkward seeing him at work. Even though it had never been blatantly discussed, at least, not to her face, people knew that she and Ron had formerly dated. The cause of their break up hadn't been discussed, but it was clear that some felt mildly uncomfortable with the situation. One person was Neville Longbottom, who worked alongside Ron and Harry as an Auror. Hermione reasoned that Neville felt guilty about being friends with both parties involved in the breakup. A few times Hermione had to remind Neville that he didn't have to pick a side or the like, because she and Ron were on friendly terms. That seemed to relax him a bit, even if he was still a little wary. Now Hermione greeted Ron and Neville as she walked past them. Neville smile bashfully, while Ron gave a small wave, more interested in what she guessed was his lunch, as he was shoving what looked like a bit of sandwich into his mouth.

Hermione had one last thought as she made her way back to the lifts; it was pointless to feel off-kilter around Ronald. Short of the world coming to an end, there would be nothing to get in the way of him and food.

About a month had gone by that Hermione was still speaking off and on to her new friend. His true identity still remained a mystery, although she did learn that he resided within Great Britain, and as fate would have it, only an hour or so away from her. His name hadn't been divulged, nor would Hermione tell hers, but they did exchange initials. Hermione used her middle, J for Jean, and Mystery Man gave his as T.

That weekend, she had been ready to climb the walls out of sheer boredom. Everyone was either away or preoccupied. Popping out to the shops for a few necessities that Saturday morning, Hermione had returned home, only to linger in her bedroom for most of the day. It was unconventional for her to take a bath so early, but she did anyway, reasoning that she had nowhere to go. The rest of her afternoon was spent lounging about in pair of pyjamas, her usual ratty set replaced with a satiny affair that had been purchased a long time ago with Ronald in mind. The one and only night she wore it had been for naught, as he was more interested in getting her undressed.

By four o'clock Hermione was in bed, a knitted throw tucked around her legs and Duchess curled up next to her. The room was almost quiet, save for the pages of her book being turned and raindrops pelting against the windows. Even though Hermione had initially been weary of her unglamorous Saturday, it was days like so that she cherished being single. For her, rainy days were a time for quiet and relaxation, two things that her former beau had been adamantly against. Ron enjoyed having a lie in, as did Hermione, but he was also fond of waking her up by way of thrusting his morning erection against her backside. Being woken up for lacklustre sex was not her idea of fun: she always ended up sticky and lying in the wet spot, all for Ron to roll over and go back to sleep. For what it had been worth, Hermione preferred sleep to sex. At least one of the two was always sure to be satisfying.

Now, with a day like so, it might have been nice to wile the hours away with a male companion. 'T' seemed like he would be a suitable candidate. She remembered him telling her that he immensely enjoyed reading, thus she surmised that he would bear no complaints when she kept her own nose buried in a book. Thinking about 'T' again, Hermione wondered if she had any new messages from him. The very last he'd sent had been from exactly one week ago. In her initial message before his reply that day, Hermione asked what he was doing. As always, his thorough answer left her hot and bothered...

"I keep thinking about how you would look lying beneath me, your hair tangled round your face, your limbs strewn about atop my duvet like rose petals... Wondering what your lips taste like, the back of your neck, the underside of each breast... Then there's the matter of oft overlooked places... your ankles, the back of your knee, the insides of your knees, the pulse point on each wrist... I long to watch your face as I press my lips to each area, tasting the sweetness of your skin, the tanginess of your sweat. I would try to find that little heartbeat of your racing pulse with the tip of my tongue, lapping at it just like I would to your quim. I'm imagining the way you'll moan or sigh for my touch, if you'll bite your lip to stifle your cries or let them ring freely when I sneak my fingers along your inner thighs, moving higher and higher until they're firmly embedded within your body. How many strokes would it take before your hips rolled and your belly quivered? How long before your trembling walls squeeze my fingers, your body's reactions giving you away seconds before your moans do? How long before that ever-winding coil of tension at your centre breaks? How long before you give in completely to an orgasm so strong that it leaves you wrung out and fisting the sheets?

Perhaps if the Fates deem it suitable, I will one day be able to personally find out."

-T

Seven was the number of times Hermione had read that message so far, and that was only counting today. She nearly had every word committed to memory, which had been accompanied by a mental image of 'T' doing each lascivious thing to her that he'd mentioned. The idea alone had her in a heightened state of arousal, one that refused to be abated by masturbation. And it wasn't as if she hadn't tried, because had the Goddess of Lust been present in her bedroom, she would have suggested that Hermione slow down before she hurt herself. Those three consecutive orgasms—one by hand, two by toy—had been akin to slapping a plaster on a deep wound. Besides, she needed to do more than just get off: she wanted a warm body covering hers. She wanted to be kissed and touched while being screwed into the bed sheets. Post-coital cuddles weren't a bad idea, either. With Ron, she might have done the cliché 'roll over in his arms' thing, but his skin had been so clammy that it put her off, and she had mostly kept to her side of the bed.

Hermione found that she had become increasingly curious as to how she and 'T' would fare during a little round of slap and tickle. Would he live up to all of the tempting messages he sent her? Or would she end up facing more disappointment? Regardless, even if things didn't pan out in that aspect, perhaps she could keep him as an acquaintance of sorts. 'T' was an excellent conversationalist, and or so he seemed from their emails.

She wanted to meet him— that much stood out in her mind. But deep down, that ugly Doubt Monster kept rearing its head, suggesting that she would be mad to go off and meet up with a man who was essentially a stranger. Then again, wasn't everyone a stranger until you got to know them? Mina hadn't known David before but things were working out well for the two. Perhaps she would take suggestions from the well-lived witch, who was familiar with arranging this sort of thing.

Which is what Hermione did an hour later.

"Hello, Mina?" she said she heard a groggy voice at the other end of the telephone. "Don't tell me you've been sleeping all day!"

"No," Mina answered, her sleep-roughened voice suddenly becoming higher. "I believe the word is 'afterglow' for what you're hearing. But we did fall asleep."

"Why did I say anything?"

"No idea, because you know I never bite my tongue." Her laugh was ominous and Hermione made a small scoffing sound. "Anyway, you never call me when I'm with David so the world must be coming to an end. What's up?"

"Remember when I told you about the man I've been talking to online for the past few weeks?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, I'm going to meet him."

There was a moment of shuffling in the background, followed by Mina giggling.

"David, stop. Stop! I'm going to send you to the corner if you don't behave. Sorry, Hermione, you were saying? Right, you're going to meet Mystery Man. So have you two decided where to meet?"

"Not exactly..." Hermione trailed off. "We haven't made plans. Actually, I've not yet asked him if he even wants to meet, but that's sort of why I'm calling you. I figure if we do meet one another that it should be in some public place, right?"

"Exactly. You want to meet in a place that is busy but not so busy that you can't hear one another when you speak. And it's best if you take a friend with you, sort of like an insurance policy."

"Come again?" asked Hermione, trying to figure out what the hell her friend meant.

"It's like this, Hermione. Say you go to meet this bloke and you find out he's some creep that's the sort to collect all of his toenail clippings from his entire life and keep them in a bin bag in his closet. I don't think you'd be keen to finish out a date with him."

Hermione cringed. "Did you meet someone who kept all of his toenail clippings in a bin liner?"

"Yeah, and you don't want to know what else he collected, but that's a story for another day."

"You know, I think I can do without that story."

"Good idea, because it'll put you off eating for the rest of your life," Mina groaned. "As I was saying, you should take a friend with you to wherever you and this bloke meet. If the date goes well, excuse yourself and have your friend meet you by the loo. You tell them that you're going to stay, and they can leave or go wherever. If the date is going badly, you've got an excuse to leave and you can hightail it in the opposite direction. Sound good?"

"Yeah, I guess," Hermione murmured, trying to wrap her brain around this entire unorthodox dating operation. "Merlin, never did I think I would have to play Auror just to date!"

"Would you rather not play Auror as you call it, only for us to have to call Aurors when you've gone missing?"

"Hmm, I guess you have a point."

"I know I do," Mina replied loftily. "Now let me know when you have things sorted with your maybe soon-to-be new boyfriend. All you need do is give me the time and place and I'll show up."

"Will do," Hermione promised, "and thank you. Now I'll let you go so you and David can finish whatever it is you're doing that I've been pretending to ignore this entire conversation."

"Thank you, Hermione!" shouted a masculine voice in the background.

Hermione laughed. "You're welcome, David! Mina, thanks again. I'll chat with you later."

After hanging up and letting the cordless drop down onto the bed, Hermione remained in place, absentmindedly stroking Duchess, who had just crawled into her lap, while thinking about the best way to approach T.

"Should I even bother, Duchess?" Hermione asked, looking down at her cat. "What would you do it you were me?"

A lazy swish of the feline's tail told her nothing. Or it could have meant that Duchess was telling her to do whatever she wanted, email the man or not, so long as she continued stroking her back.

"I'm going to ask him if he wants to meet for lunch. Or dinner? Yes, that sounds better. Lunch sounds too casual."

All right, dotty woman; are you talking to yourself or your cat? For your sake, please answer 'cat', because if it's yourself, then you have definitely gone funny in the head.

There was another swish of Duchess' tail against her arm, this one with more force. The cat seemed to be picking up on Hermione's internal battle, because she suddenly rose on her hind legs, placing her paws on her mistress's chest.

"Either this means you want to be fed, or you're telling me to shut up because I'm thinking too loudly."

Hermione lowered her head, and was amused when Duchess placed one paw against her lips.

"That can mean both, but I'll take it as a 'shut up and email him'," she laughed. "Fine, Duchess. You win."

"Mrrow!"

A few days passed and Hermione still hadn't received a response from 'T'. All sorts of things went through her mind. She told herself that she had annoyed him by asking, and perhaps not replying to her email was his way of saying their liaison had ended. While Hermione told herself that she was foolish for being disappointed, the sting was hard to ignore. Mina immediately picked up on the sudden change in Hermione's attitude. It took a bit of wheedling, and finally over lunch, Hermione told her friend about sending the message and never getting a reply.

"Yeah, but you're looking at this all wrong," Mina had pointed out. "Didn't you say before that there were times when you two would speak, and more than a few days would pass by before you spoke again? Perhaps he's busy with work or something. Because you two have been chatting for quite some time, and I don't think he'd just up and ignore you. But even if that's the case, it's not the end of the world."

Hermione was inclined to agree with Mina, but after a fortnight, her message had still not been replied to, and she lost all hope.

There was no longer any reason to log into Magk. She didn't want to chat with a new person, and checking her consistently empty inbox folder to see if it contained new messages just made her feel like a silly goose. Thursday night, she had been giving serious thought to completely deleting her profile, when she noticed a little red top at the corner of her inbox.

Heart leaping into her throat, Hermione saw that the message was from T. One of two things were going to happen, she was sure of: he was either accepting her invitation, or he was turning her down. Not knowing was worse, and she rushed to open the email.

In the beginning of the message, T apologised for his tardy reply, stating that he had been away on business and had no access to the internet. His excuse sounded feasible, considering that they both lived in the wizarding world. Then, to Hermione's relief, he suggested that they meet at one of his favourite restaurants in China Town on Saturday. The place was near Leicester Square, next to a pub on Leicester Street. Hermione was quite familiar with the restaurant and that made her feel slightly less anxious.

T had been unable to stay online that evening, but gave the rest of the details Hermione would need for their meeting. The next day at work, Hermione told Mina about the email, earning a dismissive, "What did I tell you?"

Saturday afternoon, Hermione had been in the middle of staring into her closet, trying to pick out a suitable first date outfit when someone rang her doorbell. Mina was all business once Hermione answered, rushing in and explaining that she had her 'bag of tricks' with her. Mina's bag of tricks was a blue wheelie bag with an extendable handle that allowed its owner to roll it around.

Hermione had been shoved into her bedroom and pushed down into a chair. Her chagrin grew when Mina withdrew bottle after bottle of potions and lotions that came from various Muggle shops, some of them also from a boutique in Diagon Alley.

Upon complaining about seeing no reason for all the fuss, Hermione had been told by Mina to "shut and read your sodding book before I get out my wand and change your hair into tarty blonde". In the end, she left her friend have her way. Besides, it had been sort of relaxing to sit back and receive a manicure and facial. Mina also thought it necessary for her to have varnish on her toes, but Hermione made no fuss since she was the one to apply it.

Now Hermione was standing on the pavement, trying to pretend that she wasn't nervous. A gust of the evening air cause the deep blue skirt of her dress to flutter, sending a chill right through the thin material of her tights. Mina had gone off to meet David but promised to return at seven-thirty, which was half hour after Hermione was due to meet T. The plan was that Mina would find Hermione and the gentleman, and ask to be seated within close proximity. 'T' hadn't exactly given Hermione a full physical description of himself, so she didn't know whether to look for a tall or short man, or someone with brown or blond hair. Actually, he hadn't give any description at all. But he did say that he would be seated upstairs in the back of the restaurant, reading a book. He didn't say which book, but it wasn't as if Hermione ran across many people who dined alone with their nose buried between the pages of a book. (Actually, it was something that was like her, and something that she had done on multiple occasions, but it didn't count.)

Hermione stood outside of the glass front restaurant for another five minutes before willing herself to go inside. She was greeted by the owner, a warm, elderly gentleman, who politely waved her on when she explained that she was meeting someone.

Why 'T' had chosen this specific restaurant was a bit of a surprise; it was quite bright and brash, and more functional than anything. That bit she hadn't minded; she wouldn't have to spend a weeks' wages on a meal. Every worn, wooden table was covered with paper table covers, and on top were paper serviettes, chopsticks, and refillable soy sauce bottles tucked between salt and pepper shakers. The chairs were padded but old, yet looked quite sturdy. Surely the boozers wandered in time to time from the pub next door, in need of sustenance. If they were to fall, it was best if the chair broke their fall, instead of the hard and unyielding cream-tiled floor.

Holding her breath while her hand gripped the banister, Hermione slowly made her way upstairs. The top level of the restaurant was carpeted and had a few private tables, which were cut off from the busy area by an ornately decorated black screen. This was to be her and T's designated meeting place.

'T' wasn't by the screen. Looking to the front, Hermione inhaled sharply when she saw a man tucked into a corner, both elbows on the table and a glass of water set between them. As promised, his book was present, but 'T' held it directly in front of his face and all she could see were two long-fingered, pale hands clutched around the spine.

Oh hell— this was nerve-wracking. The closer Hermione walked, the more she was able to see... the top of a jet-black head of hair, and the rigid posture of a man who appeared to have a pole shoved down his back.

"Hello?" she greeted cautiously after approaching the table.

The book was slowly lowered, revealing a stoic face that slowly adopted an expression of utter befuddlement at her presence.
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Talk Dirty To Me