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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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Hermione returned from her apparition test with a huge grin on her face. “I passed!” she exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air in triumph. “Naturally…” I drawled, looking bored. She laughed at me, punching me affectionately on the upper arm. “Shut up! I was legitimately worried I would fail!”
“You’re always worried you will fail. And yet, miraculously, you have yet to fail a single damn thing in your entire young life,” I replied, sarcasm carefully obscuring my affection. “I am proud of you, though,” I muttered, quiet enough that she would question whether I’d actually spoken at all. She positively glowed, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“I also had a totally genius idea while I was waiting for my turn!”
“Oh really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, pressure and anxiety always make my brain go in totally crazy directions for some reason… But I think I figured out what we can do about Dumbledore!” she exclaimed, squeezing my hand excitedly. As she posed her plan, I was initially incredulous. But then she elaborated, explaining how we could use the best of both worlds- magic and muggle- to achieve our end-goal. Twenty minutes later, when she’d finally finished her monologue, I was speechless. I simply stared at her impassively for a long time as the cogs in my mind turned, processing what she’d proposed. It sounded far too outlandish, far too barbaric, far too obvious, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it could really work.
I got to my feet, pulling Hermione into my cloak. I wrapped her up tightly, kissing her fervently on the top of her head. “You are bloody incredible, girl. You are a goddamn fucking genius; do you know that?”
I could see the tips of her ears flushing beet-red, though her face was buried in my chest. “No I’m not…” she whispered, delight apparent in her voice.
“Yes. You are. You are the most brilliant, fascinating human being I’ve ever encountered. It’s completely unfair that someone as exquisitely beautiful as you could also be so frightfully intelligent. You could rule the entire fucking world if you wanted to,” I gushed, quite uncharacteristically.
She looked up at me then, face pleasurably pink, eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “I feel the same way about you, you know,” she whispered shyly. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. I didn’t know anyone was capable of such bravery, such selflessness.”
“Don’t fool yourself, girl,” I groaned. “I’ve made a lot of truly monstrous decisions. I’ve destroyed so many lives…”
She interrupted me, full of quiet passion, “No. Stop that. Yes, you’ve made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. The fact that you feel guilty about them- that you strive to atone for them- that’s what makes you a good man. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. I’ve seen what you’ve been through, what you go through…”
I laughed mockingly over her, “Hah! How do you know I don’t just secretly love being a Death Eater?”
“I know you better than that. I’ve been inside your head, remember? I felt your disgust, your impotent rage. I’ve felt the all-consuming guilt that clouds your mind every second of every day. And I’ve also felt your capacity for love…” she trailed off, looking down mournfully.
“You have to know… that memory in Dumbledore’s office… the girl I felt those things for… she’s gone. She’s been gone for a very long time. What I felt for her has no bearing on you. You’re so much more than she ever was…” I struggled to find words to express myself.
She gave me a watery little smile, saying, “It’s ok. I understand that she was the love of your life. It makes sense… switching sides to get revenge for the one you love… it’s dreadfully romantic.”
My chest was tight with empathy for Hermione. If only I could express how I felt about her! How much more she meant to me than Lily ever could! An idea occurred to me, and I grabbed Hermione’s hand, nearly dragging her out of the laboratory.
“Where are we going?” she asked, jogging along behind me, struggling to keep up with my much longer strides. “It’s nearly 9! We should be getting some work done since I was in Hogsmeade for the examination all day!”
I swept out of the castle, proceeding down the darkened grounds. Only the thinnest sliver of moon illuminated the sky, and wispy clouds obscured most of the stars. Hermione disillusioned herself, though it was hardly necessary. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?” she nagged.
“The gate is keyed to allow you egress from the grounds for the entirety of the day,” I explained. “We need to get out and back in by the time it locks at midnight.”
She giggled, “I feel like Cinderella!”
I rolled my eyes, urging her along faster. The gate swung open at our approach. As we crossed the threshold, I took Hermione’s small hand in mine and turned…
There was a sudden sensation of pressure, like the entire universe was attempting to squeeze the life out of me, but then we popped back into being on the street outside a ramshackle, greying old bungalow. The grass was overgrown, the flowerbeds choked with thorny weeds. I opened the creaky wrought iron gate for her, gesturing in a mock gentlemanly fashion. She proceeded up the walk cautiously, peering up at the ominous house. I adjusted the wards as we walked up; her hair blew back in a sudden breeze as she passed through the powerful spells unharmed. She paused on the top step, looking up at me warily.
I moved ahead of her, the door swinging open at my wordless gesture. We proceeded through the small entryway, emerging into the living room. Every wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases; even most of the windows had been hidden behind shelves. Enormous, toppling piles of books and periodicals littered the floor. A number of lowball glasses, stained with evaporated dregs of whiskey, were scattered over the coffee table. The couch was patterned with plaid, so old and worn that its color was no longer distinguishable. A pair of equally ancient floral armchairs flanked the tiny gas fireplace. A thin layer of dust and grime covered every visible surface.
She peered around warily, taking in the desolate squalor. A look of dawning comprehension overtook her face. “Ohh…” she breathed, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
“You’re the only girl I’ve allowed to see the inside of my home,” I said quietly. “I was too ashamed to ever bring her here. But I trust you, Hermione. I want you to know me, to understand me.”
She nodded silently, taking my hand reassuringly in her own. I took her into the tiny kitchen, the only part of the house that had been updated in the past 50 years. I had replaced the old linoleum countertops with butcher block. The cabinets I’d painted a rich, emerald green, adding modern brushed nickel knobs. The gas stove was a restaurant-grade stainless steel monstrosity that I’d dropped a pretty penny on. An actual muggle refrigerator hummed merrily in the corner. I even had a high-end microwave installed above the range. “Oh my…” she whispered, stroking the silky-soft wooden countertops with her free hand.
“I’m one of maybe a hundred wizards in Britain who have electricity in their homes. Interestingly, Lucius Malfoy is one of the others.” She gaped at me in shock. “Oh yes, the Malfoys are quite heavily invested in the muggle stock market, so he needs email and telephones to communicate with his fiduciaries and whatnot…” I remarked conversationally.
“You learn something new every day…” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.
Keeping her delicate fingers interlaced with my own, I guided her back into the living room. At the wave of my hand, a bookcase swung outward, revealing a narrow staircase. “I assume that didn’t come standard with the house?” she joked as we proceeded up the stairs. “Indeed…” I drawled wryly.
I indicated my parents’ old room on the left, dust-ridden and gloomy. I’d long ago destroyed all of their belongings, so it was completely bare. No sheets covered the stained old mattress, no curtains obscured the dirty windows. The dresser drawers hung open and empty. I closed the door wordlessly, wishing, as always, that I had the emotional fortitude to move into the larger, more comfortable bedroom.
I reluctantly pulled her into my diminutive room, flipping the light switch and closing the door behind us. She stared around raptly, clearly trying to absorb every detail. She immediately went to my inexpensive upright piano, running her hand along the highly-polished black lid. She examined my sizable collection of classic rock posters that papered the walls. Hermione seemed especially interested in the iconic Pink Floyd one that depicted their album artwork painted on women’s bare backs, as well as my Houses of the Holy poster.
Faded Slytherin scarves and ties were strung from the posts at the headboard of my narrow twin bed. A small number of abstract sketches I’d made hung on the wall above my corner desk. She admired my artwork, commenting on how disturbingly psychedelic they were and asking if she could take one. I shrugged, feigning indifference, but was beyond thrilled that she appreciated my unpracticed efforts.
She lowered herself onto my ancient green tartan bedspread, smiling at me warmly. I sat on the piano stool on the opposite side of the room, carefully keeping distance between us. “This is pretty much exactly how I imagined your boyhood bedroom would look,” she commented.
“I know it’s uncomfortably small,” I started to apologize, but she cut me off with a raised hand. “Stop. It’s not like I expected you to have a house like what my parents have. I know what kind of background you come from. That’s what makes you so impressive. To rise above a poverty-stricken, abusive childhood to become the greatest potions master Hogwarts has ever seen… That’s incredible. You’re incredible,” she asserted, eyes glimmering with passionate unshed tears.
I allowed myself a small smile, quickly turning away to hide my expression from her. I pushed back the keyboard cover, casting a needless dust-removal charm over the ivories. I plucked out a couple of scales, checking that everything was still in tune. I banged out a few chords, getting my fingers properly loosened up. I played a few random melodies as they sprang into my head, mostly ad-libbing.
After a few minutes, I found myself falling into the opening notes of an arrangement of “Wish You Were Here” for the solo piano. I crooned the lyrics mournfully, a full register below David Gilmour’s original voice. My melodious basso profondo boomed around the tiny room; the air seemed to shimmer with the reverberations of the piano. No one could express alienation quite as poignantly as Pink Floyd, and my voice quavered with grief and existential despair.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Hermione had desolate tears running down her cheeks. She hugged her folded knees to her chest, gazing over at me unblinkingly. My voice ceased, and I slowly, painstakingly, plucked out the final notes of the piece. I held down the final chord, allowing the vibrations to ring out languorously, fading after a long, excruciatingly beautiful few seconds.
She pushed herself off the bed, hastily taking the four short steps across the room to me. She threw her arms around my neck, embracing me forcefully from behind. I felt her tears falling into my hair as she kissed me on top of the head.
Feeling a sudden boldness, I launched into the song that I had been secretly associating with her for months, “Madrigal” from Rush’s A Farewell to Kings album. As I picked out the simple melodies, my voice flowed forth with quiet, barely restrained passion,
When the dragons grow too mighty
To slay with pen or sword
I grow weary of the battle
And the storm I walk towards
When all around is madness
And there’s no safe port in view
I long to turn my path homeward
To stop a while with you
When life becomes as barren
And as cold as winter skies
There’s a beacon in the darkness
In a distant pair of eyes
In vain to search for honor
And in vain to search for truth
But these things can still be given
Your love has shown me proof.
The short song ended as sweetly and earnestly as it had begun. The air, now bereft of the piano’s vibrations, was thick with tension. I couldn’t bring myself to turn to face her, but kept my eyes cast down at my lap. My hands were carefully folded to disguise the nervous tremors that ran through them.
“Severus,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. At her insistent pressure on my shoulders, I turned around on my short stool and looked up at her. I was sure my eyes held naught but bare vulnerability in their black depths. She kissed me, quickly but with extreme fervor. I held my mind open to her, silently begging her to look into me, to see how powerfully I felt for her. But she continued to simply stare at me, her expression intractable, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
“Severus,” she repeated, seeming to steel herself, “I need to say something to you. I know you won’t feel the same way, so I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it back, but I just can’t keep it inside anymore…” she rambled out hastily, but I interrupted her, rising to my feet and pulling her into a crushing kiss.
I pressed her face roughly to my own, grasping her by the base of her neck. Our tongues danced together, desperately, hungrily. I broke off our kiss, whispering, “You silly fucking girl, can’t you see how much I love you?” into her ear, burying my nose affectionately in her thick, fragrant mane. She let out a rough, choking laugh, “I love you too, you know… more than I ever imagined possible…”
We snogged like teenagers then, frantically grasping at each other’s clothing. We stumbled towards the bed, and then I was laying her down, climbing atop her, all without breaking our kiss for even a second. I sat up briefly, ripping my cloak awkwardly from my throat. I tossed it across the room, and Hermione reached for my waistcoat, fingers fumbling with the buttons. Her hands caught between us, scrabbling frantically at the buttons of my shirt, as I returned to invade her mouth aggressively with my tongue.
She spread her legs beneath me, and I nestled my hips between them, grinding my erection against her core. She moaned throatily, wrapping her calves around the backs of my legs. Her robes fell up around her hips, exposing her lithe, creamy-smooth thighs. I ran my calloused hands up her legs, reaching up under her robes and gripping her firmly around the waist. I ground against her yet harder- my hands undoubtedly digging painfully into her hipbones. I was sure I was crushing her with my body weight, but she continued to gasp delightfully beneath me.
She finally, miraculously, finished unbuttoning my shirt with her hands trapped clumsily between our bodies. She pushed up on my chest, forcing me back onto my knees. She tore the shirt and vest from my torso in one go, sleeves turning inside-out. She threw it onto the floor, then reached for the bottom hem of her robes. She wiggled inelegantly, working it up under her bottom, fighting the combined weights of our two bodies. She yanked it off over her head, not even bothering with the fasteners on the front.
I took a long moment to stare at her in admiration as she laid back on the pillow. She was wearing a matching set of bralette and panties in white, semi-sheer cotton. A pair of girlish, knee-high white socks and saddle shoes completed the enormously appealing visual. I growled in a rather animalistic fashion, laving her from the seam of her impossibly tiny underwear to the base of her elegant throat. I continued along her neck, finishing by running my tongue ever-so-lightly along the rim of her ear. Her entire body shuddered involuntarily, and she grasped handfuls of the sheets on either side of her.
Giving her a ghoulish grin, I gently tongued her tiny left nipple through the fabric of her bra. I swirled luxurious circles around it, and the fabric wetted accordingly. I pulled back, blowing gently on the moistened area. She gasped at the sudden coldness, arching her back alluringly, thrusting her chest upwards and into my face. I attacked her other breast, encouraged by her aggressive display. I nipped and sucked at it, soaking the temptingly thin fabric with saliva. I blew on her right nipple as well, making them a matching set of achingly erect little pink nubs, now perfectly visible through the wet fabric.
I was delirious with desire, unconsciously making low noises in the back of my throat. It was all I could to restrain myself from ripping down my trousers, yanking aside the crotch of her panties, and taking her immediately, thrusting mercilessly into her, heedless of her readiness. She pulled the stretchy bralette over her head, dropping it onto the floor beside us.
My lowered my dark, feral gaze to behold her in all her glory. Her small breasts were nearly invisible when she was lying flat on her back. She had adorably small, bright pink areolas surrounding her hard, puckered little nipples. I ran my lips affectionately along the thin, white scar that marred her otherwise pristine décolletage. I cupped her petite globes in my palms, and they didn’t even come close to filling my large hands. I buried my face in the crevice between them, kissing her sternum tenderly. I proceeded to shower her perfect chest with kisses, whispering, “You are the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, Hermione. You are so incredibly beautiful, so utterly flawless, so perfectly exquisite…”
She smiled down at me, murmuring, “I love you, Severus Snape.” My chest flared with a scorching heat, a joy I had never known myself capable of. I was feverishly elated, high on the sensation. I pressed my face into her stomach, unable to bear the poignant expression on her face. “I love you so much. I want to be with you every second of every day. When something good happens in my life, all I can think about is how I can’t wait to tell you. When I’m scared, I want to be safe in your arms. When I’m laughing, I want to share the joke with you. Those tiny moments when I can make you smile, make you laugh, are the highlight of my entire day. You’re everything to me, Sir. Everything…” she rambled, reaching down, desperately grasping at my shoulders with her soft hands.
I placed a long, lingering kiss on her navel, wrapping my hands protectively around the base of her ribcage. I then placed another, an inch lower, lingering, then continuing to move lower, lower…
Then I was kissing her soft blonde curls through the fabric of her panties, and she was pressing herself lewdly, unthinkingly, against my face. I continued my enticingly slow descent, placing another prolonged kiss against the top crease of her labia. I placed a final slow kiss roughly a half-inch lower, and she grabbed the back of my head, mashing my large nose rather painfully against her pubic bone. She rubbed herself obscenely against my mouth, shattering the final vestiges of my resolve.
I swiftly lowered my hands, pulling her underwear down her hips in a single smooth movement. I threw both her legs over one shoulder, deftly yanking the scrap of fabric over her calves and feet. I rubbed them thoughtfully between my thumb and forefinger, sneering vulgarly, “My, my these sure are soaked. What a naughty little girl you are, Miss Granger. Your virginal cunt is positively dripping for your dirty old professor.”
She huffed in frustration, staring up at me with a deliciously eager expression on her face. I placed each of her feet over my respective shoulders, spreading her legs wide open. I bent my head and gently nipped the inside of her thigh, eliciting a tiny yelp from her. Grinning, I placed my lips against her flawless skin, suckling aggressively, leaving a string of love bites marring the perfect smoothness. “Please!” she gasped out, reaching to pull my head towards her throbbing need.
I slipped off the bed, kneeling on the floor beside the mattress. I grabbed her by the hips, easily rotating her petite form closer to me. She was truly a sight to behold, legs spread, clad in nothing but knee socks and schoolgirl shoes. She propped herself up on her elbows, staring down at me hungrily. I placed slow, luxurious kisses along her inner thigh, taking my time, torturing her, gradually making my way to her gorgeous center.
I placed my lips against her closed outer labia, and my first impression was of intense, scorching heat. I slipped my tongue between her lips, tasting her salty, musky sweetness. She was the most glorious thing I’d ever experienced, and I plunged into her aggressively, desperate to savor her.
I spread her small outer labia with two fingers, exposing her bright pink cunt to my view. She was swollen and glistening with desire, enflaming my passions with this incontrovertible proof of her need for me.
I took her little clitoris between my lips, suckling on it gently. I reached up, pinching and twisting her pebbled nipples. She tossed her head back, groaning deeply.
I sucked her clitoral hood roughly, pulling it farther between my lips, tonging the now-exposed bundle of raw nerves. I caressed her randomly, first this direction, then that, alternating between pushing on her forcefully, then barely tweaking her with the tip of my tongue. She pulled on my hair, frustration evident in the sounds she was making.
I pulled back then, giving her entire cunt a broad, luxurious stroke with my tongue. She gasped, yanking on my scalp painfully. Ignoring the discomfort, I gave her another long, impossibly slow caress. I placed a single finger at her opening, gently rimming its exterior, as I continued my leisurely attentions on her clitoris.
She pushed off against her elbows, thrusting her hips towards me. She shoved herself onto my finger, pushing it inside her, abruptly and crudely.
Her hot, wet passage was impossibly tight around my digit. I could feel a few tattered remnants of her maidenhead, and I carefully avoided them. I curled my finger into a come-hither motion, gently probing the spongy tissues protecting her incredibly sensitive inner nerve endings. She let out a growl, pressing my face yet-harder into her, nails digging painfully into my scalp.
I synchronized my interior and exterior movements, going excruciatingly slowly at first. She moaned in frustration, bucking against me desperately, urging me to go faster…
I gradually amplified my ministrations, simultaneously increasing in pressure and speed. The sounds of her pleasure swelled in volume with my painstaking attentions. By the time I was thrusting my finger in and out of her, straining her tight little passage, she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
She made no coherent sounds, just random syllables and gasping exhalations, as her body seized wildly. She was thrashing around heedlessly; it was all I could do to keep ahold of her hips with one hand, keeping her still enough to ruthlessly violate her with the other. Virtually my entire face was rubbing against her clit now, my tongue alone apparently insufficient to provide the pressure she was craving.
She finally came, and it crashed down around her with frightening intensity. She went abruptly silent, eyes rolling back in her head, every muscle in her body straining. She failed to breathe, too overwhelmed by the sensations wracking her body. I felt her vaginal walls roiling and contracting around me, nearly cutting off circulation to my finger. She squeezed my head between her thighs, painfully tight, leaving my ears ringing when she finally released me. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled across her, and it took over a minute for the contractions to slow. She collapsed onto the bed, soaking with sweat, gasping for air.
Her nails scrabbled needfully at my collarbone, so I climbed back onto the bed, hovering over her flushed, quivering form. She pulled me into a messy kiss, smearing her delicious wetness all over her own face. She grinned at me devilishly, licking her lips, before kissing me again, probing my mouth aggressively, hungry for more. I buried my arms beneath her, settling nearly all of my weight atop her. She wiggled against me alluringly as I whispered, “I love you, Hermione,” huskily into her rat’s-nest of hair.
I rolled onto my back, grasping her by the hip and shoulder, and pulling her on top of me. She settled into me, nuzzling my broad chest affectionately. We laid like that for a long time, her heart pounding against my ribcage, gradually slowing its pace as she took deep, calming breaths. My cock remained painfully erect the entire time, but there was nothing to be done for it. It was utterly impossible to occlude my filthy thoughts, and I couldn’t help but imagine her unfastening my belt, releasing the fly on my trousers, holding my huge throbbing member in her miniscule hands…
When her breathing had finally returned to normal, many long minutes later, she sat up on her knees, straddling my thighs. I was amused to see that her much shorter legs strained to reach all the way across my own. She had just started to place hot, moist kisses along the waistband of my trousers when her eyes happened to glance over the face of my watch. She let out a high-pitched squeal of horror, jumping off of me and frantically searching the tangle of fabric on the ground for her clothing. In a panic, I flew into a sitting position, staring at my watch in abject terror. We had four minutes to get her back on Hogwarts property!
How the fuck did I lose three hours?! What the hell is wrong with me?! This damn girl destroys every bit of logical thought in my entire fucking brain!
I pulled my shirt over my shoulders, doing up the buttons with a wandless charm. I left my waistcoat on the ground, simply helping Hermione yank her school robes over her head, abandoning her underwear and bra on the floor. We pounded down the stairs, exploded into the living room, and flew out the front door past the wards. We held hands, turning simultaneously on the spot.
The Hogwarts gates slammed behind us with less than a minute to spare. I fastened my cloak across my chest as Hermione Disillusioned herself. When we entered the massive double doors, I sent her up to her dormitory. She agreed easily, stating that she couldn’t be held responsible for what happened if we went back to my rooms.
I practically sprinted into my quarters, stripping off my clothing and falling onto my bed. My still-hard cock throbbed frantically as I took it in my fist. I beat off, savoring the taste of Hermione’s arousal that still coated my lips. I came nearly instantaneously, but my cock stayed ready, engorged with frustrated desire. I jacked off again, remembering her soaking wet cunt clenching around my finger. I gripped myself painfully tightly, imagining it was her hot little passage wrapped around me. I came twice more before my cock finally receded, its need for her only temporarily sated.
Though my body was limp with exhaustion, I laid awake for hours, remembering every detail of the night, determined to burn it into my memory. She was the most incredible thing I’d ever experienced, and I was filled with blinding gratitude.
How did I get so lucky? How could a girl like Hermione, so beautiful, so full of potential, so utterly perfect in every way, be in love with me? I must have done something really amazing in a past life to deserve this…
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Madrigal