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The Book that Binds COMPLETE	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 16011 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
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A/N: J – Hah! I’m sorry that you choked but I’m glad that you laughed. Enjoy your movie night.
LeWyKi – Good to hear from you. Yes a different vibe this time (so far). I’m glad you are still enjoying.
OracleObscured – ‘deliciously decadent’ – now I’m going to have to steal that. Yes I imagined unbuttoning his underwear too. I’m glad you enjoyed the Loch Ness Monster (not a wrist in sight). Bahahaha – I love the business card suggestion, perhaps it can get abbreviated to Professor INSEETIHAEC . Yes the Song of Lunch obsession is percolating through too many aspects of my life. I’ve already had a firm word to you about your oracleness and am glad that you are happy to keep it obscured for the time being. I fixed your corrections – please keep them coming, you know I care.
RebelHeart – Lovely to hear from you. Glad that you enjoyed TQ also.
Michelle – Yes, I find I can’t stop myself when I’m on a bit of a roll. Who will snap first? Good question!
Robin – Yes, I’ve enjoyed the banter myself. The action is coming!
Night_Fairy – your wish is granted.
Chapter 3 – the force that finds
Hermione was woken by an acute case of missing limb. The arm attached to the book had disappeared overnight and been replaced by a hunk of numb meat which started tingling and throbbing when she tried to move it.
Shit that hurt!
She groaned and rolled onto her side, blinking through the pain. His eyes were open. Clear and alert. Watching her. How long had he been awake?
She frowned. Was she expected to smile at him? It wasn’t like they wanted to wake up together. His expression was inscrutable. What if he was thinking, ‘fuck I hate you’? A smile would make her look like a sickly sycophant or an evil witch, depending upon the hate filter. There was also the possibility that she was overthinking it.
“Good morning,” he rumbled, continuing to watch her.
“Is it?” She didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. What else could she say? ‘Good morning to you too. Doodley Doo!’ It wasn’t a good fucking morning. She’d slept like rubbish and her body felt like it had gone ten rounds with a possessed bludger. Then there was the charming proposition of spending another day stuck to her cantankerous curmudgeon of a Potions Professor by a fucking sex book.
She stank. She could smell herself. He could probably smell her. She watched his nose. Was it smelling her? Good luck to it if it was. The stench was only going to get worse. She needed a shower. Or a bath. He probably did too. She closed her eyes, another groan escaping her as she imagined just how awkward that was going to be. If she’d thought the toilet incident had gone badly, how was she going to deal with the prospect of ‘Nessy’ breaching his bathwaters?
She’s in a particularly foul mood, he mused. Her face looked like she’d just eaten a flobberworm pus sandwich and her hair was doing a pretty good impression of Medusa on a bad day. He frowned as she stuck her hand under her armpit and smelt it. Merlin’s festering foreskin! So much for feminine mystique!
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he was going to make it through the day, he knew he was going to have to make some painful compromises. Otherwise things would become unbearable. More unbearable.
“I need a shower.”
Gods! He pinched his nose even harder. Trying to squeeze out the images that were bursting into his mind from every direction—a collage of them, writhing around, merging together, pulsating. He couldn’t do it.
“Can’t you scourgify?”
“I could scourgify. If I didn’t mind being cleaned out like a cauldron,” she snapped. “However, I’m not actually made of metal. Scourgified hair looks like it’s been lying in a grease trap for . . . “
She stopped when her eyes fell upon the lank locks spilling over his face. Well that explained a lot.
“Anyway, the answer’s ‘no’. I also need some fresh clothes from my room. I can shower there or here. I don’t mind.”
Well he fucking minded. He didn’t want her showering anywhere near him, in any location. But she seemed pretty determined.
“And have you considered how we might travel to your living quarters?” He drew a finger down his raspy chin which had shadowed considerably overnight. Hermione had never seen him anything other than absolutely clean shaven. She found herself quite taken by it, maybe because it wasn’t of his choosing—a subtle loss of control.
“Well, I thought we could possibly walk. You know, one foot in front of the other, in the traditional fashion,” she replied.
He rolled his eyes. This was becoming fucking painful. “And how do you suppose the staff and students of Hogwarts will respond to two Professors walking around holding a pornographic text between them?”
“I’ve thought about that.” Hermione’s face brightened as she sat up. “I’ll cast an illusion spell to make the book look like a basket.”
“A basket.” He looked even more unimpressed than she thought possible. “And who are we supposed to be? Jack and Jill climbing up the hill? Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf?”
Hermione smirked, the latter wasn’t that far from the truth. “I am a recent appointment, struggling to carry around a considerable load of books and whatnot and you are a Professor of considerable experience who has agreed to a new mentorship program and is assisting me with my teaching.”
He peered down his nose at her. Who was going to believe that bullshit?
“Or we could just tell everyone we’re lovers,” she suggested.
That got him up. Before she knew it, he was on his feet and had dragged her up with him.
“Make the . . .” his jaw muscles bulged and she knew he wanted to say ‘fucking’ but couldn’t bring himself to “. . . basket.”
With a flick of her wand, she cast the illusory spell. She couldn’t transfigure the book, itself, as the binding curse prevented any direct manipulation. The illusion was more like a superimposition and, when complete, it was pleasingly convincing. They both held the wicker basket by the handle. It was large and filled with a variety of items that looked heavy but weighed nothing.
“It feels like we’re going on a picnic,” she remarked.
This time she heard him loud and clear. ‘For fuck’s sake!”
***
They did receive their fair share of looks. Actually, it was more like gawps and eye-popping stares. But no one dared giggle or even smirk, as Professor Snape’s face was positively thunderous and staff and students, alike, were petrified of being struck down on the spot.
Hermione, however, found it all quite amusing. She smiled and greeted people as they passed, strolling at a leisurely pace which he was forced to match so that he didn’t appear to be bulldozing her.
Eventually they arrived at the room she’d been allocated near Gryffindor Tower and she couldn’t help an inward smirk when Professor Snape entered with her and unceremoniously slammed the door in the faces of a hoard of gaping students.
But the walk of shame seemed to have taken its toll. He looked dreadful. It was becoming increasingly clear to Hermione that he really didn’t cope well with humiliation.
Well, she thought, he was in the wrong predicament for that. Pornographic book – check; Stuck to insufferable know-it-all – check; Semi-erect penis seen by insufferable know-it-all – check; Paraded in front of the whole school carrying a basket with the woman he hates like some gormless idiot – check; About to get naked and wash himself left-handed whilst hated woman pretends not to look – check.
He was doing that strange one-handed arm-crossing thing again and tapping his index finger irritably against his shoulder. She decided that the only thing for it was to take the lead. Undoing the basket illusion with her wand, she headed over to a chest of drawers, withdrawing fresh underwear, before moving to the wardrobe for a skirt and blouse. He followed petulantly behind but didn’t utter a word.
When she’d collected everything she needed, she led him into the bathroom. It was only about half the size of his, mainly because it lacked a bath, but the close confines were going to make manoeuvring decidedly problematic.
“Close the door please,” she instructed him.
He pushed it shut but his hand remained pressed against it. She suddenly felt a small jolt of something pass through her. The action was difficult to interpret. If felt like he was either desperate to get away or . . . was trapping her inside. Her breathing quickened as his fingers slowly slid down and he stepped towards her. Was he trying to intimidate her—to reassert himself?
She gulped and raised her chin to him. The depths of his obsidian orbs seemed to stretch on forever, but the smouldering motes dancing within, the embers of a burning nimbus, seared into her and she felt her legs start to quake. His shoulders stretched and broadened like unfolding wings. It was Snape at his most imposing—an unfathomable incubus.
“Are you going to have a shower or not?” His eyebrow quirked up.
She let out her breath. Fucking bastard. He obviously wasn’t used to a woman taking the lead. It didn’t sit well with his inordinately large, but paradoxically fragile, ego. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could play the intimidation game.
Turning away, she reached into the shower and flicked on the taps. As the steam began billowing out, she placed one foot on the toilet seat and undid the strap of her sandal before kicking it into the corner. She did the same with the other then, using one hand only, released the buttons at the back of her skirt before trapping it against her thigh with her palm and wiggling her hips to gradually ease it down.
The entire time, her eyes didn’t leave his and she could tell he was taking a beating. Tiny tics and twitches tugged at his face and his almost imperceptible eyebrow movements divulged a parade of passing emotions, the most prevalent being desire. Stepping out of the skirt, she kicked it into the corner before bringing a hand to the top button of her blouse.
She could have easily removed everything with a wave of her wand but the slow reveal was clearly having a deep . . . impact. Had she woken the sleeping monster?
Agonizingly slowly, she twisted each button through its hole until the very last allowed the blouse to fall open like a pair of sheer curtains, framing the most tantalizing view he’d ever seen. She must have heard his guttural groan above the hasty patter of the water, as her movements turned from beguiling to downright provocative. Pitching her head back to reveal the soft pale flesh of her long neck she allowed the blouse to slither down, gathering in a pile at her fettered right wrist.
His eyes shuttered as she flicked the clasp at the back of her lace bra, letting it spring away from the firm peaks of her breasts, before sliding the straps down each creamy shoulder to reveal deeply rouged nipples. He was breathing heavily through his mouth, steaming up his lungs. Then she gave a final flick of her wrist and her blouse, bra and knickers dropped, wandlessly, to the moist tiles at her feet.
His eyes, trapped in her thatch of curls, didn’t notice until it was too late. She suddenly yanked back into the steam and slammed the shower door shut, jamming his wrist.
“Fuck!”
“Oh sorry.” She peeked out through the gap. “I forgot you were there.”
She heard further cursing from her depths of her water cave. Serves him right. It wasn’t like he hadn’t revelled in intimidating her for almost half of her life.
Attempting to ignore the dark shadow that loomed beyond the glass, she reached for a bar of soap and began to wash herself. It was, however, a little more difficult to ignore his actual hand, which was in the shower with her, still touching hers and still wrapped around that stupid fucking book.
The book, itself, remained dry. Despite her agitation, she found herself entranced by it, watching the water droplets deviate, as if magnetically repelled, from its surface. He’d been right, it was heavily protected by the curse and it seemed, from her reading at least, that the release word or phrase was the only possible way of lifting it.
Well that narrowed things down a bit! She thought bitterly. It could only be any word or phrase in any language in the entire world. She felt the tears welling. What if they couldn’t work it out? Was this to be her life? Permanently bound to the person who antagonised her most in the world and whom she looked to antagonise, just as mercilessly, in return?
She glared at those long elegant fingers. Then felt like crying again. They really were beautiful. And, now, practically useless. His magic had been taken from him. She hadn’t really considered how that must be making him feel. What a bitch.
Turning awkwardly, she managed to pump shampoo into her palm before massaging it into her tangled hair. It didn’t feel nearly as satisfying one-handed, so she made quick work of rinsing and conditioning, before a final rinse and flicking off the taps.
She chewed her wet bottom lip, almost unable to bear the thought of facing him.
“Would you mind passing me a towel?”
Moments later, the fluffy white cloth appeared in the gap and she plucked it from between his fingers.
“Thankyou.”
Wrapping it around herself to ensure that minimal flesh was visible, she cautiously slid the door open. He was staring at the floor, one hand propped against the wall tiles.
It didn’t take a Legilimens to work out that he was incredibly hurt and angry. Desperately wanting to apologise, but not being able to bring herself to do it, she stepped from the stall.
“Scourgify me.” His voice was low and emotionless and he refused to look at her.
She couldn’t do it.
“Professor I . . . “
“Scourgify me!” he shouted, picking up her wand from a nearby cabinet and slamming it into her hand.
She was trembling, on the verge of tears, but somewhat emboldened by the smooth wood of the wand between her fingers.
Drawing a shuddering breath, she forced herself to look into those eyes—filled with accusation and pain, old and deep.
“I made a mistake. I’m sorry.” She blurted out. “I’m really not feeling myself. I shouldn’t have done it. I was just . . . “
She swallowed with difficulty.
“You . . . well you . . . you really need a shower,” she tailed off.
His stance was rigid, muscles wound like springs. His distrust burned into her. She was never going to convince him.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then slowly, gently, she began. Having spent so much time with Ginny, who had the most sensitive skin in the world, she had learned quite a few cleansing spells that didn’t involve the harsh scouring of scourgify. Murmuring spell after spell she teased the knots from his hair, cleansing the strands with Aqueus and Saponify, then moving to his skin, casting Exfoliatus and Dermatticum which lifted and rippled his clothes in waves. He initially stiffened, but gradually began to relax, the magical ministrations slowly ebbing away the tension.
By the time she had worked her way down his entire body, he had visibly softened. Now he simply looked sad.
Without speaking, she stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him to sit on the closed toilet seat. Despite the intense frown that worried his brow, he acquiesced. She filled the nearby basin with hot water, then discarded her wand for her razor, replacing the blade with a fresh one. One handed, she squirted shaving gel into her palm before carefully approaching him.
The first touch of the cool gel caused him to jerk away but she stood, motionless, waiting for him, and eventually he relaxed back into her palm. Gently, she lathered the gel down his cheeks and over his chin, sculpting it around the contours and planes of his face and neck until the skin was coated liberally in a creamy film.
Starting at his temple, she drew the blade down, leaning against him slightly due to the difficult angle and not being able to support herself with her other hand. With steady, fluid strokes, she carved tracts through the creamy bristles, leaving silky swathes of skin in her wake. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as she glided up his neck, but she managed to navigate the undulations without losing her confidence. Finally, as she leaned in close to negotiate she ridges around his nose and mouth, she felt him tense against her, but she was careful and his rhythmic breathing gradually returned.
After completing the final stroke, she dropped the razor into the basin and reached for a small towel, using it to gently wipe away the residue clinging to his chin. He watched her intently before bringing his hand up, trailing his fingers over hers, before grasping the towel himself and dragging it down his neck.
She turned away from him, a deep shaky breath capturing her chest. The whole operation had been conducted in silence except for the thudding heartbeat that pulsed incessantly through her ears. Now that she was no longer focused on the process, she was on the verge of being overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all.
“I’m going to get dressed now,” she said, her voice tight.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn away and quickly used her wand to dry herself and pull on her clothes, before buttoning and buckling, then detangling her hair.
“All done.”
She ventured a small smile when he swivelled to face her. And when he responded with a slow nod, unguarded, she sighed with relief. He had forgiven her.
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The Book that Binds *COMPLETE*

The Book that Binds COMPLETE