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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
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A/N:
Nightstar – ‘wow thats dedication to no emotional attachment. Sneaky snake!’ – hahah, that’s him in a nutshell! So pleased that you are enjoying it :)
OO – ‘Or perhaps I need to invest in a feedbag to free my hands’ – I’m really surprised you don’t have one already with all the handiwork you do ;) ‘more in the debauched column rather than the dark’ – yeah, you might be right, I’m finding it really tricky to characterise him (Love the salt-n-pepa by the way). Thanks for the fixes – ‘metered’? WTF was I thinking? ‘but it's so satisfying when he goes rogue’ – ooh, yes! I’m thinking from your faves that you may have picked up on some of the ‘silence of the lambs’ phrasing (You’ll know what to expect when Snape sits down to some fava beans and a nice chianti ;)). ‘I'm not sure I can go from idling to full throttle in the span of one short chapter’ – you just need to try harder! (or maybe I do). ATHD – sounds like a disorder – you’re the master of acronyms – I’ll leave that one to you ;) x
Kvarta – Ooh, I like that you feel he has the book Snape vibe. I also love your thoughts about why he returned to Hogwarts and what his ultimate motivation might have been. ‘She's making herself willing and more interesting prey’ – mmmm, this is a juicy observation, very nice. ‘My guess is he also need a challenge, danger and more than anything...mind games’ – another lovely bit of insight. ‘why is she willing to be "less perfect" in his eyes but not in the eyes of others?’ – now that’s interesting! ‘you are not in the league little girl’ – hahaha! ‘pls tell me you won't turn it in to a "50 shades" kind of story’ – I can assure you that, despite current appearances, it’s going to have more depth than that (at least I hope so!). Let me know if you feel it falling down that hole. xx
LissaDream – Lovely to hear from you. ‘I'm equally disturbed and turned on’ – excellent! that’s pretty well the angle I’m going for ;) ‘I totally wasn't expecting him to get "phsycial" with her the very first time’ – this Snape is certainly all about the shock factor! Thank you! x
Remarkable – ‘train-wreck-can't-look-away worthy!’ – I love that, I should totally use it in my tags! Lovely to hear from you x

Chapter 3 – Potionmaster
Hermione averted her eyes from the house point hourglasses on her way to the Great Hall the following morning. Witnessing the dismal pile of rubies, unceremoniously drained, would do little to improve her mood. In fact, after everything that had happened, she considered that there was very little that would make her feel better beyond a gargantuan bowl of porridge. But as she passed through the hall, the progressive build-up of accusing stares, the cheery conversations that fell to sniggers and furtive whispers in her wake, instantly twisted her stomach.
She felt the weight of collective disappointment as she approached the Gryffindor table. A number of students shifted to give her room. It was only when she sat that she realised they had left, the vacant penumbra around her only adding to her humiliation.
Sighing, she spooned porridge into her bowl, pouring over milk and a drizzle of honey.
“You’ve got balls,” Ginny muttered in her ear before sliding into the seat beside her.
Hermione’s gaze flickered from her bowl to survey the rows of faces that were conspicuously turned but still obviously watching.
“I heard you broke curfew.” Ginny kept her voice low as she tore a piece of toast in half. “It wasn’t that book group again was it?”
Hermione snatched up her spoon. “I really don’t feel like discussing it at the moment, Gin.”
Ginny eyed her, taking a bite of toast and chewing it. “I hope it was worth it,” she remarked thickly.
Hermione scooped up a mound of porridge and blew hard on it, sending specks flying onto the table. “Of course it wasn’t worth it. I just didn’t consider . . .”
Unable to finish, she suddenly shoved the porridge in her mouth, the steaming lump nearly choking her, forcing her to quickly pour a glass of pumpkin juice.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a death wish,” muttered Ginny. “I mean, after what happened the first time, didn’t you think Snape would have it in for you?”
At the mention of his name, Hermione’s eyes strayed across to the staff table. He was sipping from a mug, little finger cocked slightly, eyes roving across the crowded room. She looked away just before his gaze met hers.
“I didn’t expect it to be that . . . extreme.”
Ginny popped more toast into her mouth. “Five hundred points? I’ll say that’s pretty bloody extreme.”
Hermione didn’t respond. She could feel the tell-tale heat rolling up from her throat as the memories flooded back. Since returning to her room the previous evening she’d thought of little else, replaying the sensation of his slick finger penetrating her over and over again. She could feel it now.
“There was a meeting in the Gryffindor common room last night,” Ginny informed her. “Everyone was really upset. They want to know what you’re going to do.” She ducked her head, trying to catch her friend’s eye.
“I’m going to earn the points back,” Hermione murmured.
“All of them?” Ginny’s eyes widened as she slowly wiped her mouth on a napkin. “How?”
Hermione’s gaze returned to Snape who was now watching her overtly. Others in the hall had also noticed the headmaster’s stony appraisal of the head girl. Everyone knew that he had her number. And he wanted them to know.
“Just tell them . . .” Hermione turned to Ginny. “Tell them I’m getting the points back.”
***
Two days passed and Hermione was still unable to bring herself to return to Snape’s office. Just thinking about it flooded her body with hot sensory gushes that were both confusing and disturbing. She was disgusted by him. There was no doubt that she found his behaviour abhorrent. But there was also a part of her that found his actions so shocking that she became damp just thinking about them. His unwavering confidence was part of it. That and his words. Normally such explicit revelations would render a person vulnerable. But not Snape. They made him seem bizarrely knowledgeable, even if she found much of it offensive. And the style of delivery—low and aggressive, meant that she was having trouble dislodging his deep resonance from her auditory memory, like schizophrenic utterances, urging her to do things to herself.
She was scared of him. And he knew it. But she was also a Gryffindor so it wasn’t an insurmountable barrier. The main issue, however, was that she was also scared of herself, of discovering that she wasn’t the person she thought she was, the person she wanted to be, that everyone knew her to be—Gryffindor’s golden girl.
But maybe Ginny had been right about her death wish. She’d been fully aware of the risks, and yet she’d given up that golden mantle—killed it off—with little consideration in the end. Could she have even brought this upon herself . . . purposefully?
***
There were only seven of them. Seven had returned for Seventh year. They were all close and so none sought to make her predicament worse. Still, Hermione timed her arrival at classes to avoid conversation as much as possible. She knew she was failing as a friend, as head girl, and her swotty student status was also at risk. But she didn’t feel capable of addressing any of her shortcomings at that moment. It was terrifying to think it had taken only three days . . . three days for everything to fall apart.
She entered the potions classroom late.
“Miss Granger.”
Her heart stopped.
What was he doing here?
“I would have considered tardiness a transgression that you would be at pains to avoid under the current circumstances.”
She stood motionless, staring. No point deductions. Please. No points.
“Sit. Down.”
Moving swiftly, Hermione made her way to a desk, tucking her skirt self-consciously around her legs as she sat.
When she looked up, Snape was watching her. Everyone else would have observed a meaningful glare. She saw heat. And she wasn’t imagining it.
His eyes finally left her.
“Prior to being rudely interrupted, I had been in the process of informing you of Professor Slughorn’s absence. Thus, I will be teaching this class until further notice.” He began to pace slowly, hands locked behind his back. “I understand that you have been working your way through the Advanced Potions text. I would, therefore, expect you to all be able to brew a quality Depilatory potion.”
Hermione saw Neville’s eyes widen in alarm.
“Without . . . a recipe,” Snape finished.
There was a collective inhalation but no one dared inform him that it was unlikely.
“Get on with it,” Snape commanded sharply, turning toward the blackboard before flicking his wand across it to reveal the potion name and functional requirements.
Hermione had a reasonable idea of what to do. She’d never brewed that particular potion before but she’d read the text book enough to recall a significant part of the recipe.
Collecting her ingredients from the store room, she returned and began her preparation, pulling the petals off a calendula flower with her fingertips.
“You’re fortunate that this preparation calls for a delicate touch,” Snape murmured as he peered over her shoulder. She tensed so much that her fingers turned stiff and clumsy. “I doubt you could manage anything more . . . robust.”
She knew he was referring to her masturbatory efforts. He was taunting her. She didn’t respond. What could she say? Sweeping away, he proceeded to throw blunt, mainly derogatory, remarks at her classmates as they attempted to deduce the instructions to a potion most had likely never read. Hermione chewed her bottom lip, conjuring the image of the book page that the potion was written on. Her photographic memory had always served her well but the cyclic return of Snape’s looming presence was still incredibly distracting.
Working quickly, Hermione finally had all of her ingredients prepared and began adding them to the cauldron, stirring gently with the stirring rod. Suddenly a large hand clamped around hers.
“Counter . . . clockwise.”
She looked up with a gasp. His face was mere inches from hers. He moved her hand in the opposite direction, his forearm flexing against hers, bicep against her shoulder. The sensation of his body moving against hers set her heart to warp speed.
“Aren’t you fortunate that I came at precisely the right time?”
The emphasis on ‘came’ wasn’t lost on her.
She blinked, then spoke quietly, “Thank you, Professor.” His upper lip curled into a faint smirk before he finally released her and moved away.
Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her fingers, trying to calm herself. He was determined to fuck her up. She knew it. And she of all people should have the mental fortitude to withstand it. But still the sensation of his touch stayed with her, a tangible residue of the most intimidating presence she’d ever known.
Mercifully she managed to complete the remainder of the potion without having to engage with him further. But as she looked around at the other cauldrons she noticed that none of the brews looked the same. Luna shrugged at her and Hermione subtly shook her head in response.
“Disappointing does not come close to describing the sum total of your efforts today.” Snape frowned at them from the front of the room. “Utterly pathetic would be far more accurate.”
He advanced slowly toward them.
“Only one potion was a success—that belonging to Miss Granger.”
She felt a tiny bit of relief flood into her. Points reward. Please. More Points.
“And that was only because I was able to step in to avert yet another disaster.”
Bugger.
“Clear this muck away. Now.” He swept his hand dismissively across the cauldrons. “Everyone except . . . you.” He pointed a long finger directly at Hermione.
Her lips moved subtly around the silent word, ‘shit’.
Snape crossed his arms, his ominous glare sufficient to herd everyone silently from the room.
The door closed.
And then there were two.
His black gaze returned to her.
She held it. There was little else she could do.
“Am I to assume,” his index finger trailed lightly up and down his bicep, “that you are no longer seeking to redeem your deducted house points?”
“No, sir,” Hermione responded.
“No, sir what? Is my assumption incorrect, or have you chosen to allow the deficit to remain?”
“I . . . I wish to continue to redress my errors but . . .”
“But?” He lingered dangerously over the word.
“I would ask that you inform me before doing anything like . . . like you did last time.”
His finger stopped tracking and flexed into the muscle of his upper arm. “You will have to remind me.”
Hermione’s gaze dropped to the floor with her stomach. Why did he have to make everything so bloody difficult?
She took a deep breath. “You put your finger inside me—without warning and without permission. I would ask that you don’t do it again.”
He stared at her, eyes shuttering slightly. She wasn’t sure how to interpret it. A concession?
“No.”
She was taken aback. “But—”
“Miss Granger, your issue is clearly one of control. You manage people and circumstances to ensure that your control is not threatened. Your flagrant disregard for the rules of this school indicates that you have taken your sense of power in that regard to new heights. I will not allow you to control proceedings in my domain.”
Hermione couldn’t quite believe that in ‘his domain’, her rights didn’t matter.
“You can’t just do with me as you wish,” she demanded.
“You’ve masturbated since.”
Her eyes jagged up to his before flicking away.
“Did you penetrate yourself?”
Hermione couldn’t look at him but knew that he would be absorbing her red flush like a vampire.
“How many fingers?”
Her jaw stuttered open.
“How many fingers, Miss Granger?”
“Two.”
“Of course,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. “This is how you respond when I challenge you, Miss Granger—when you accept your punishment. Do you understand?”
She drew a shuddering inhalation before delivering a small nod.
“I will, therefore, satisfy your need for redemption by affording you another opportunity.”
A desperate voice in her head was screaming at her to get out. But there was another part, even more determined, that wanted her to stay . . . that needed it.
“Knickers and skirt off.”
In some ways she felt she no longer had control over her limbs. It was as though she was bound to follow his directive. By choosing to be there, she was choosing this.
Fingers trembling slightly, she released the buttons of her skirt and dragged it down with her knickers, noting with some embarrassment the significant wet patch in her gusset. Stepping out of them, she folded both quickly before placing them on her chair.
When she straightened, Snape was closer.
“It would be a shame to waste that perfect potion.” His eyes went to her cauldron. “Use your fingers to apply it.”
“What?”
“For functional rather than aesthetic purposes . . . I want your pubic hair removed.”
She glared at him incredulously.
“Twenty points.”
Twenty points?
It was as much as she’d been awarded for masturbating. But this was worse wasn’t it? It felt more extreme. Then again, it would grow back . . . wouldn’t it?
“Unless you would prefer for me to do it?” His eyes were on her bush.
“No,” she responded quickly.
“Then make haste.” He turned away. “I have other business to attend to.”
Hermione watched as he made his way over to the desk to consult a small book.
Her gaze returned to the cauldron. She really wanted the points. It had been too long since her initial gain. But she was also fearful of what conceding would mean, what sordid plans she would be agreeing to by taking that step. Wriggling her fingers nervously, she blew out a long breath. She could leave at any time. This cage was of her own making. Not his. She just needed to remember that.
Tentatively, she moved forward and dipped her hand into the pale pink mixture. Scooping up a little, she brought it to her quivering mons. What was the worst that could happen? Again, she chose not to answer, quickly daubing the creamy fluid over her springy coils and watching them literally disappear. Returning for more, she continued the application until the entire area, including her labia, was smooth and bare. It looked so clean . . . so . . . young.
“Nowhere to hide now . . . Miss Granger.”
Hermione looked up to see that he had cleared off the desk and was sitting casually on the corner of it.
“Come here.” His hand slid from his thigh to rest upon the desk. “Show me exactly what you have learned . . . and I will give you thirty points.”
Thirty points. That was fifty points total. Ten per cent of her deficit all at once. It was significant— enough to show the others that she was trying.
Despite the intense embarrassment that was already twisting her insides, she comforted herself somewhat with the knowledge that she had already been through this with him before. It was nothing he hadn’t seen . . . except that, as he’d indicated, there would be no chance of hiding . . . anything.
Moving quickly before she lost her nerve, Hermione made her way over to the desk.
“All fours.”
She stopped, scanning the desk top to assess what he was asking of her. It was going to be physically uncomfortable kneeling on the hard wood, and with only one arm to support her, the pressure on her knees was going to be extreme.
“Can I possibly transfigure my skirt?” she asked. “To provide a little padding?”
Snape stood. “I doubt you would have much success after being stripped of your wand.”
Locking eyes with her, he brought his hands to his chest and, without a word, began unbuttoning his coat—long, nimble fingers rippling down his front. Hermione realised then that she had never seen him without it—rain, hail or shine. Until now.
With a flourish he removed it, draping the thick garment over the desk before proceeding to unbutton the cuffs of his white shirt, rolling each over with a smooth flick to expose his pale wrists. Each action conveyed a sense of economy, of ominous preparation. The fear rose again. But with her trepidation, Hermione was shocked to feel a tiny spark of something else . . . Excitement? Anticipation?
He inclined his head to the desk and she swallowed hard before placing her palms on the smooth surface, lifting one knee and then the other onto it. Crawling forward, she positioned herself on top of his coat, spreading it out a little to ensure that she was sufficiently cushioned.
She waited for more specific instructions but was greeted by nothing more than a heavy silence. The awkwardness drove her to slide her knees apart, resting her weight on her left arm before lifting her right hand between her legs.
She could see him standing directly behind her, hips positioned between her feet. Either he was incredibly short sighted or he was planning something. She already knew the answer. Clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, Hermione willed herself to continue.
Lowering her shoulder so that she could reach further, she proceeded to slide her middle finger between the fleshy lips of her labia, now oddly smooth, skimming over her clitoris before locating the silky pool at her entrance and gliding easily inside. He’d been right, she hadn’t often had her fingers inside herself and the sensation was still novel to her; both her tunnel and her fingers were unaccustomed to it and a little unsure of what to do. She did it the way she had in her bedroom but she’d been on her back then, and more able to tilt her pelvis. On this occasion, it amounted to little more than poking herself but she hoped it would be enough to satisfy him.
There was a loud huff behind her.
Apparently not.
Suddenly she felt him grasp her wrist, yanking her arm down and pushing her up far more deeply inside herself.
She gasped, her chin dropping to her chest in shock. Then he curled his fingers around the back of her knuckles and forced the heel of her hand to grind against her labia and clitoris as he thrust her finger up until the webbing stretched. He pushed so forcefully that her entire pelvis began to roll with each incursion. Squeezing her eyes closed, a breathy whimper burst through her lips.
“You need to learn how to fuck yourself,” he muttered. “Properly.”
The dark timbre of his voice, roughened by the coarseness of his words, the bold intensity of his actions, his rhythmic breathing as he grasped and drove her was entirely too much on its own, but suddenly he changed his grip on her hand, and what he did next caused her elbow to buckle beneath her, sending her face-first into his coat.
Drawing her finger out of her pussy completely, she felt his own long digit slide up behind her small one, spooning it as his large hand wrapped around her own. The intimacy of that gesture had her stomach clenching in confusion, such that she attempted to turn to see what he was doing. But before she could catch a glimpse, his other hand clamped tightly around her hip, holding her in place as their united digits were suddenly thrust inside her. Her left arm collapsed.
The stretch was entirely deliberate, she could feel both her rim and walls stinging and straining with the powerful surges and flexions of his finger. But despite his aggressive assault on her pussy, she gradually became aware of his equally deliberate, slippery caresses of her own entrenched digit— gentle, almost seductive, causing her channel to spontaneously tighten around both of them, drawing them together within her in yet another bodily betrayal.
A muffled groan seeped from her into his coat as his disconcerting digit suddenly curled inside her, his knuckle reaming against her back wall. Simultaneously, his fingertip pushed down against her own, forcing hers against the front wall of her vagina, curling it into the spongy tissue there in a way that suddenly had the pressure in her pelvis pumping up like a pressure cooker.
“This is what you should be attending to,” he ground out emphatically. She could imagine his face ticking with disapproval, disgusted by her ignorance.
But she could do little more than drag her forehead onto her collapsed forearm and moan like Myrtle. Meanwhile, he continued to pressure her, forcing her to stroke at that same patch with increasing vigour whilst somehow managing to simultaneously grind her clitoris with the base of his hand against hers.
The intensity and depth of the sensations shocked and scared her. She’d never felt anything like it. And suddenly she sensed that she was about to lose control of everything, the mounting burden on all of her passages no longer possible to restrain.
With a strangled, ‘No . . .,” she attempted to pull her hand from his but he was too strong.
“Don’t fight this,” he growled, his own finger now rubbing hard inside her.
Sparks of light crackled along the edges of her vision, she was hyperventilating, on the verge of collapsing entirely.
An unearthly wail began to build in her shuddering chest before she strained her head forward and emitted her final raw invocation, “Gods!”
She came.
Less like an orgasm and more like a possession, Hermione detonated, her entire body seized by a torrent of such violent eruptions that she felt like something had burst inside her and was leaking out in jerky fits and spurts. Aware of nothing and everything, her mind atomised by an impact more deep and powerful than she could possibly consciously endure, she could do nothing more than gasp and gape through the convulsions. And every time she felt herself on the verge of reconciling, of landing back inside herself, he ground that button again, triggering a new round of arcing and seizing, gasping and moaning, until her body was wracked and wrung out into a boneless pile on the desk.
Finally he left her.
She lay with her eyes closed, the only movement from the ratcheting gears of her mind.
What did he want from her?
An apology? An admission of guilt? A plea of ignorance . . . of fear?
She would willingly give it, if only she knew.
Or perhaps this wasn’t about her at all. Perhaps it was about him. But what could he be getting from it apart from the obvious opportunity to dominate and humiliate? Was her punishment that important to him?
As it was, she was incredibly confused by his inconsistent and unpredictable behaviours. Some moments he seemed to loathe her and others he seemed to be trying to communicate, to connect. This latest episode, itself, felt like a forced epiphany, the emergence of a whole new inner world, brought from her depths like a volcano from the ocean. In some ways she felt she should be grateful to him, but his hostility and relentlessness meant that it amounted to little more than an assault.
So perhaps she had been correct about his ultimate desire from the start. Perhaps the aim of all of this really was to fuck her up.
“You may wish to amend your previous claim.” His voice was back to its usual calm precision.
Cracking her eyes open, she finally looked at him.
He lifted the heel of his hand to his mouth, sucking it as he watched her, before flicking the cuff of his shirt back down. “You do squirt.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He approached.
His face was a mask again. There wasn’t even a twitch as his fingers trailed over her bare mons.
“I won’t ask you again.” His voice was dangerously low. “From now on you will come to me for redemption.”
Her abdomen fluttered as his fingertips ghosted over her mound. She nodded faintly.
He lifted his nose a fraction. Then, with a sudden yank, he pulled his coat from under her, rolling her away such that she had to claw at the desk to stop herself from falling to the floor.
Breathing rapidly, she jerked her head around to see him scoop up his books and stride coolly from the room without a backward glance.
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At the Headmaster’s Discretion *Complete*

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete