Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Madrigal	By : Rotisserie_Cassowary Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 7982 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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As instructed by Minerva, I placed a castle-wide watch on Draco. I now had reports streaming in at all hours of the day and night. As a result, Hermione and I had to start conducting ourselves very carefully. The risk of our affair being discovered had multiplied a thousand-fold. There was no telling when a ghost would pop through the wall, informing me that Draco was, once again, ensconced in the Room of Requirement.
The boy was getting into petty arguments at all hours, forcing me to sprint across the castle in case I needed to break up a fight. For fuck’s sake, children having magic sure does make this whole professor thing way more difficult than it should be. It takes a hell of a lot more effort for a muggle kid to murder their classmate just because they didn’t like the way they looked at them one day.
As a result of this, Hermione had enacted a strict no-touching policy. I honestly did make an effort, but it was unbelievably difficult. My mind replayed our dalliances over and over again like a broken record. Frequently I imagined I could still feel her hand squeezing me through my trousers, her perfectly muscular ass seizing up under my assault, the heat of her soaking wet cunt against my underwear-clad cock. I could barely keep my hands to myself.
I would lightly run my fingers across her bottom when I squeezed past her, reach out and take her hand when she was sitting next to me on the couch, or come up behind her as she hunched over a cauldron, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her aromatic mane. She would scold me every time, but was seriously lacking in sternness. I noticed that she seemed to be occluding herself pretty much constantly.
Meanwhile, I had a lot of trouble caring whether I got sacked or not. Some days it seemed like she was the only thing keeping me at Hogwarts. I was of a dual mind; I was simultaneously convinced that I was going to die any day now, while also finding myself fantasizing about life after the war, after her graduation. Would she still want anything to do with me once she was outside of these insular walls? Was her attraction to me just some weird form of Stockholm Syndrome?
Once she sees that she has so many options- more attractive, wealthier, younger men than myself- she’s going to completely lose interest. I’m just the only thing around right now. And when I’m not the angsty, dangerous spy anymore I’ll completely lose all sense of mystery and intrigue...
But regardless of my ever-present negative internal monologue, a tiny voice in the corner of my mind had somehow become a total romantic. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to really BE with her. I was stunned to realize that I would marry her the next damn day if given the option. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that she was the one for me. Lily had been gradually fading from my memory over the past 16 years, and Hermione had finally erased her completely. I realized that in comparison to what I felt for Hermione now, my infatuation with Lily had been nothing more than a childish obsession.
Lily and I never had anything in common, really, other than being from the same hometown. She was a Charms virtuoso; the showier the spell, the better, as far as she was concerned. She was never particularly bookish and cared little about her grades, though she possessed a massive amount of natural talent. She was always socializing and absolutely craved being the center of attention. She was a total flirt and spent literally hours every day on her hair and makeup.
But she was the first person who had ever been kind to me in my entire young life, so I imprinted on her like an ugly duckling. I convinced myself that she was the only person who was there for me, who really saw me, who really knew me. I never even entertained the idea of pursuing any other girl. It felt like an insult to everything she’d done for me.
But she was a pretty girl who wanted to date pretty boys. She wanted to sneak around- going to parties, getting drunk, and snogging in empty classrooms. She had no interest in long hours in the library and nighttime strolls around the lake with me. She had been an amazing, kind-hearted, beautiful person, there’s no doubt about that. But I had been too young and naïve to grasp just how innately incompatible we were. I spent my entire childhood trying to change myself, to be what I thought she wanted. But I could never be a boy like James Potter had been- effortlessly handsome, confident, funny, popular.
And then I wasted years mourning her, convincing myself that my life was over now that she was gone. I threw my twenties, which should have been the best of years of my life, straight into the rubbish bin. I had dozens of one night stands, refusing to allow myself to grow close to anyone. I turned into this bitter, loathsome monster who instantly despised a neglected little 11-year-old boy just because he resembled his father. Instead of embracing this last remaining piece of my first and best friend, I alienated and abused him.
But Hermione had brought me back to life. I no longer lived day-to-day, convinced that I could die at any time. I didn’t immediately fantasize about ways to kill myself every time I made a mistake. This war had been a Sword of Damocles over my head for half of my life. I never believed that I would survive it, so I didn’t even bother to think about the alternative. But now, I planned for the future. I wondered how much I could make from selling Spinner’s End, whether Hermione would rather live in a city or the country, if she was the type to get married, if I wanted kids, if she even wanted kids, if I wanted to be a professor anymore, if we could adopt a dog, and on and on…
All of these questions were utterly foreign to me. My state of mind had undergone such a radical shift in a few short weeks that I found myself with a constant sensation of disconnect. It was as if I were under the Imperious curse: like I was convinced I was making my own decisions, but they seemed bizarre when I looked at them more closely.
But I wasn’t Imperioused; I was in love. I was madly, obsessively, greedily in love. I wanted to hide her away, kissing her, making love to her, worshipping her, every minute of every day for the rest of my life. I wanted to keep her safe, away from the world, away from anyone who would ever think to harm her. I wanted to create life with her, the truest expression of my desire to be with her, to join with her, to become one with her. My future, once nothing more than a red curtain of inevitable doom, now stretched out before me, indistinct, but frightening in its exquisite beauty.
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