Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Massage	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 52203 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

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A/N: Thank you for your patience and continued reviews!

There was no tremble in her hand; nor the apprehension that should have kept her still. Somewhere in her conscious mind the notion of the line she was about to cross should have struck her. Not perhaps as wrong, but at least as something that should be considered more thoroughly before proceeding. But Hermione heard no such thoughts. All she could hear was her racing heart; the strong thrumming of the blood pulsing through her veins making her temples surge with a pulse stronger than she had ever felt. His head rested against her shoulder; he had leaned forward, slumping, his breathing heavy but slow. The heat of his hand radiated against her own as she hovered over him; and then without hesitation as if it were the most natural thing to do, she touched him. Her fingers curled slowly around the head of his erection; and she felt his fingers curl around her hand.

            She had felt a man before. She had felt many men. Not so many as to be considered promiscuous, but she was not the innocent naïve virgin that most believed her to be. It was an act and nothing more; keeping her sexual life as it was meant to be, of a private nature. But this man was different. The situation was beyond her realm of comprehension. But she felt him against her hand nonetheless. Hermione drew in a slow breath; looking straight ahead over his shoulder, slowly moving her fingers down his length. His hand moved with hers, slowly down his length, cupped around her as she was cupped around him. She could feel the warmth of his forehead against her skin; the singlet baring more of her body than she’d intended.

            She concentrated. It was helping a patient. A patient in need; and nothing more. Though it was a lie to deny the strange sensation tugging low in her stomach. Not arousal, surely nothing so crass as to find herself stimulated at the man’s current plight and her involvement thereof, but something strange. It was neither nauseating nor sickening, but it was certainly a strange feeling, which caused her head to swim, making concentrating on the task at hand all the more difficult.

            For a moment she allowed her eyes to fall closed. Images of the men she had touched flashed behind her eyes. Ron, Viktor, Charlie, a muggle from her hometown, even Harry once in an attempt to appease Ginny’s fantastical request for a Ménage à Trois. But never had she felt a man like this. A hand job was a hand job; they were all the same, no matter who was on the receiving end, but this was different. Again the sensation tugged in the pit of her stomach and she opened her eyes; slowly guiding her hand up his rigid length. He filled her hand more than enough; though not so ridiculously thick that she was unable to curl her fingers completely around him, but thicker than those she had previously encountered. It made her lips twitch and she was relieved that he could not see her face, his own buried against her shoulder.

            Up and down; slowly stroking him, curving her palm around his head; the slight drip of pre-cum coating her hand as she moved. His hand fell away from hers as she swirled her fingers over his tip like spiders crawling; and she felt his breath quicken. He was panting, harder than before but only a little faster and she wondered for a moment why he fought so desperately to restrain himself vocally. It had been the same during the massage; the man was petrified into humiliation; forcing his silence. She stroked him harder then, suddenly longing to hear his voice again. He had made strangely pleasing sounds as she had treated his muscles, and she found it odd to crave hearing them, but she couldn’t help herself. With her free arm wrapped around his shoulder, Hermione maneuvered her hand up to his neck and began once more threading her fingers through his hair; her nails massaging his scalp.

            She felt the cry well up from his chest as she squeezed the base of his erection and tightly stroked up his length, swiveling her hand against his sensitive tip. It was primal; the sound of an animal, someone in need. His chest was moving faster, his breathing audible as she stroked him, harder than before and a bit faster, twisting her wrist right and left, her other hand still massaging his head. Her thighs were pressed against the edge of the table, his shoulder leaning against her chest. The weight and warmth of his body was causing a flush in her own body and the tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach began to spread tingles throughout her body. She felt her legs tremble, but she steeled her nerves and continued to stroke him; almost smiling as he moaned.

            He was twitching in her hand; his silken skin slick against her palm moistened with his pre-cum; responding to her as she moved. Hermione’s heart raced faster in her chest. She’d brought a man to completion with her hand before; but not like this. He was whimpering now; his voice a cry echoing in her ear from a distance, drowned out by the sound of blood rushing through her veins, the tingling feeling spreading through her body. His weight was heavy leaning against her but she could not find reason to complain as she let her eye fall closed for the second time. And for a moment he was just a man; a man with the primal urge to experience release at her hand. And she found her hand moving quicker at this notion. For one moment he ceased to be Severus Snape; and became just a man, a man driven by desire that only she could provide. Her fingers moved quicker; she worked with an urgency driving her; his need channeled through her as she pumped his member, circling faster over his tip, up and down, harder and harder.

            Her eyes opened as she felt his length stiffen. It was a peculiar feeling, though she’d felt it before; a man so hard with need, suddenly becoming harder and tense. Hermione moved her fingers quickly; twisting her wrist up and down, stroking him from base to tip. He groaned; his chest shuddering and she cupped her hand against his tip as he came; squirting against her palm. She stilled the fingers that were moving in his hair; and wrapped her arm around his back; holding him against her chest. He was warm in her hand, the feeling not completely unfamiliar to her. He was not the first man to come against her hand; though he was the first in a long time. His cum oozed through her fingers, coating her skin with the thick sticky sensation.

            After a moment she stepped back, allowing him to sit up. Hermione spun around, a bit quicker than necessary, and stepped toward the counter. She closed her eyes for a moment and could not help but bring her fingers close to her face. It was subtle gesture; the scent of his release so close to her nose. And then an unthinkable thought occurred but before she could stop herself; she had tasted him. As quickly as it had happened she hissed, “scourgify,” but loud enough for the man seated behind her to hear. Her hand was clean but wiped it against the front of her shirt anyhow. With a deep breath to calm her nerves she turned around to face him. “When you are able to stand, and walk,” she said. “I will help you down and you can go.”

            It was all she could think about as she laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was salty and sweet, musky and different all at once. She tried to block the memory from her thoughts but it kept surfacing no matter what she tried to think about. A part of her was in denial; it hadn’t happened because there was no logical explanation for why she would have done such a thing. But the lingering memory of his salty taste on her tongue forced her to accept that it had happened. She was frustrated, and confused. There was no rhyme or reason to why it had happened; it had simply happened. Hermione longed to put the incident out of her head; longed to forget the whole ordeal. She had treated a patient, and dismissed him after his treatment and nothing more. But that was a lie. It hadn’t been a patient it had been Severus Snape and complications arose during his treatment. She snorted at her choice of words to overview the events. But the truth of the matter was that she had crossed a line; and despite all that was wrong with it, she found that her curiosity was getting the better of her. And rather than be disgusted and utterly embarrassed she was simply keen to know more.

            She closed her eyes; no longer wishing to stare at the ceiling but all she could see was the image of her cradling him against her figure as he came. She shook her whole body, tossing roughly against the mattress until she was laying on her side. He had been in a state and needed assistance. But it wasn’t her place to give that type of assistance. She curled her knees up to her chest. He had asked, but only because her thoughts had been readable. Or had he read her thoughts. That notion annoyed her more than anything else, but it slid from her mind all too quickly and once more she was drawn back to the savory salt-like taste of his cum. Why had pressed her tongue to her fingers? What had possessed her to do such a thing? Hermione shook her head trying to wrack her brain for answers. But none came.

            Her mind tried listing the facts as if that would somehow explain it better. He was Severus Snape. A man who had caused her torment during her school days; a man who had betrayed them only to be proved a hero after his death. He was a man who had risen from the dead; a man who suffered. A man whom she was meant to despise because of how he’d treated her. But she was conflicted on her feelings toward the man; she had been since she’d learned of his memories and all his reasoning behind his actions. It was hard to simply forget how terrible he had been toward her, especially during her fourth year, but it seemed so childish compared to everything the man had sacrificed to keep her and the others alive. She groaned in frustration. One man should not make her think so much.

            But her conflicting feelings toward the man did little to clear up the reasoning behind her rash actions. It had been utter lunacy to help him in the first place; beyond the required medical treatment that she had administered. And then his words were echoing in her ear. Not even words, but his single response to her question. She had asked did it always happen and his simple response had rocked her to the core. Hermione felt her face flush. She had been responsible for the condition which she ultimately helped to alleviate, but intentionally so? She couldn’t be sure. She had brushed against him, but he had begun to respond to her touches before then. It frustrated her and again she groaned. And then like a waterfall tumbling over her head it all made sense. She shot up so quickly that she banged her head against the headboard and shouted. Rubbing the back of her head she bit her lower lip and then sighed.

            He had attempted to refuse treatment because he knew how he was likely to respond. There was no other logical explanation for it. It was an inappropriate response at best but Hermione couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles. And after a moment of laughing she calmed herself and laid back on her bed staring up at the ceiling once more. He had assumed he would respond as such and had insisted he receive a different person to administer his treatment. It all made perfect sense. She was younger; softer hands, gentler touch, despite her attempts to apply great pressures during his massage. And he was, after all, a man. A man who had found himself aroused at her touch. A man whom she had brought to completion with her touch. Again her stomach was flooded with the tugging sensation from before.

            Hermione licked her lips and closed her eyes; allowing, for the first time since returning to her chambers, her mind to roam over the memory. He had felt hot; sticky against her hand, the scent intoxicating. That was why she had tasted him; she had desired to and before her rational mind could take hold the deed had been done. The warm blush was creeping through her cheeks again and she felt the sensation in her stomach spread. Her eyes flew open and she shoot up once more from the bed, leaning forward this time as to not hit her head again. It couldn’t be true; it didn’t make sense. How could she have desired him? Hermione pulled her knees against her chest and closed her eyes. It was because he was naked and she felt sympathy and it that moment her motions had been overrun and confused; that was the only logical explanation, or at least the only one that she was willing to accept.

            It wasn’t that she had been without men in her life for a few years; or that she craved the sexual involvement. It wasn’t that she was lonely or found Severus Snape to be attractive; it was simply a confused physical reaction; a response, just as his body had inadvertently responded to her. She slowly uncurled her legs and lay back on the bed. But try as she might sleep would not come. The voice that taunted her in the back of her head was keeping her wide awake. It scoffed at her notion of inadvertent physical reactions, at least on her side of the incident. Sleep was not going to be an option and so she left her chambers.

            She had hardly noticed the chill of the castle as she had wandered the corridors and absently noted a few students out past curfew as she milled about; not really paying them any attention. To say she was distracted was an understatement for when she discovered that she had wandered all the way down to the dungeons she cursed under her breath. But surely her subconscious had dragged her there for some reason. She needed to check on her patient. It was a feeble excuse but it was as good of one that her mind was going to allow. Hermione was certain he was fine and would be annoyed more than anything else that she had come to check on him, but she needed to see him. Though it hardly had anything to do with needing to see that he was alright. She shook her head, “This is ridiculous,” she muttered aloud to no one in particular as the dungeon corridor leading to his office was deserted.

            But when she reached his office door she found her hand eager to move and before she could stop herself she had knocked on the door. His voice floated forth from within; soft but clear. “Enter.”

            She closed her eyes. It wasn’t too late to turn and run back through the corridors up to the safety of her chambers, but she found that she had reached for the door handle and had pushed the door inward before she could act on the notion of running. Hermione stepped into his office, closing the door behind her. He was seated at his desk, dressed once more in his robes, though why she had expected him to be wearing anything less was beyond her mind’s current capability. She took short quick steps to stand in front of his desk.

            He did not raise his head from the parchment he was reading; though she noted with slight amusement that he donned a pair of reading spectacles, perched halfway down the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t certain why it seemed so funny for the man to have spectacles, other than the fact that she’d never seen him wear them before; he was of the right age to have trouble with reading the disgustingly sloppy writing of the younger and even some of the older students. She cleared her throat as if to announce her presence but before she could speak properly he’d raised his hand and waved it dismissively at her.

            The healer in her surfaced at that moment. It was one thing to be dismissed; and although she doubted she would have tolerated it normally, it was completely unacceptable to be dismissed by a patient, her patient when she was meant to be checking upon his condition. Had his eyes glanced up from the parchment he would have caught the look of indignation that flittered across her face before she schooled her features into a more composed look of calm and parted her lips to speak. “I have come to present a follow up to your care, as you were certainly not going to come seeking me out in the Hospital Wing. I need to ensure you are in a proper state post treatment.”

            Her choice of words stung him. His eyes stilled and slowly he lifted his head from the parchment. Severus reached his hand up and pulled the spectacles from his face, setting them on the edge of the desk. His gaze rested on her face, dark and foreboding as unreadable as ever. She watched as he steepled his fingers together, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers, his elbows resting on his desk. She held his gaze, realizing her mistake in choice of phrasing. But she had spoken, and it was too late to retract her words. So she waited in silence for him to speak.

            A storm of rage could have flowed from his lips; a string of foul insults coated in disdain could have easily dripped from his tongue; slashing and attacking like a serpent. Hermione expected the verbal lashing; she expected the tirade. But the silence was unnerving. It fell over the room like a foreboding storm. It made her nervous and she did her best not to fidget. It was a habit she had mostly conquered save for chewing on her lower lip, but even now she found the discomfort creeping through her manifested too strangely to allow her to indulge in the bad habit. She did, however, manage to keep her eyes locked with his, proud of her courageous decision.

            It seemed like an eternity passed before he finally spoke. “You have caused enough states for one day, and can no doubt visibly discern that I am physically fine. Take your leave while I still know the meaning of the word dignity.” His words were crisp and cutting. She felt them echo through her ears as if he were repeating himself though his lips had stopped moving. Her cheeks were warm and she knew that she was blushing; embarrassed but no more so than he had been when she’d administered his treatment. It had been a mistake to visit him, but she could not seem to find it within her being to make herself move. Her eyes shifted to his desk, watching his elbows rest there, his spectacles and the parchment the only other thing covering the surface.

            “I’m sorry, I…” her words trailed off. No words seemed to fit the situation. She had humiliated him. The lashing out she had expected but his subdued response; the simple dismissal was more than she could handle. She felt her chest tighten, but not in the strangely present way it had when she had assisted him earlier in the evening. “I didn’t mean to— I just wanted to ensure—”

            “You have made it quite clear what you wanted to ensure, Miss Granger,” he said and then picked up his spectacles once more. The man held the small wire frames in his hands for a moment, turning them over absently in his palms.

            “I didn’t mean to— the phrasing was— I just meant that—”

            “Stop,” he said. It was strange how years after their roles had changed in one another’s live how his words could still halt her as if she were still a student in his potions class. Her lips pursed into an expression she had seen all too often on the lips of her Headmistress, and she crossed her arms over her chest. A defensive move, but she didn’t care how it made her look, she needed to shelter herself, even if the physical gesture would do little to protect her from the verbal lashing that was about to come.

            But again she was chilled at his silence. Stunned into a state of shock that he had not risen from his chair and begun pacing around his office like a trapped animal. It unnerved her more than anything else; the pattern of predictability that she thought was routine for the man seemed absent at present. Hermione brought her eyes up to meet his but found that he had leaned his forehead slightly forward, resting against the tips of his fingers and that he had closed his eyes. She frowned, unsure of what to make of this. Words were failing her; she found none to express the confusion and everything else she was feeling.

            She watched him closely; waiting for him to open his eyes, waiting for him to snap back to his biting remarks and scathing comments. He had been so eager to lash out upon her first visit to his office. But she supposed there was something different. It was the old principle that once you know something you can’t un-know it; applied here only differently. She had seen him naked, she had touched him, had given him release. And that was something that could not be undone. He could not strike the image from his mind anymore than she could. And she spoke before she could stop herself. “I could obliterate the memory, there’s no need to— I’m bound by patient confidentiality, and there’s no reason you can’t—”

            “Stop talking.” His words were louder than before. She watched him rub his temples; his slender fingers massaging the side of his head and for a moment she imagined her fingers there. It hadn’t felt entirely unpleasant when she had run her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching over his scalp. The image had returned to her so crystal clear that it made her shiver. She had crossed so many lines; aside from the obvious, he was a patient and in a sense she had violated him for her own baser needs. Even if those needs were to care for her patient as his state of being determined. She closed her eyes for a moment and watched the man sit back in his chair, no longer leaning against his desk.

            Hermione spoke, steadying her voice. “I am your healer. You are my patient. What happened need not be known to anyone but me. I simply came down here to see that you were recuperating from the treatment.” She hesitated for only a moment before drawing in a breath and continuing. “You were in a state; so as a medical professional I assisted.” Again she paused but not long enough for him to interject. “It’s why you refused the treatment at first,” she said. “You were apprehensive about the results it might generate,” she swallowed hard. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

            Why she desperately found herself seeking his approval even now when she held the upper hand, even now when he held the role of patient and she of caregiver, Hermione could not fathom. There was no need to extract an answer from him; she knew it to be the case, and yet she had asked anyway; something deep inside her still desperately craving approval. She waited; with her arms now held behind her back, eyes trained on his face. Hermione drew her breaths slow and even, inhaling and exhaling through her nostrils, waiting.

            He sat straight in the chair, no long leaning back against the back nor resting forward against the desk. His posture was aligned though she noted that his shoulders seemed to carry a slight tremor. He crossed his arms over his chest and then raised his eyebrow suspiciously. “You have no sense of humility; while inflicting humiliation upon your patients,” he said.

            She blanched at his words and found herself defensive. “You were in a state! A state that wasn’t my fault!” she cupped her hand to her mouth and then quickly shook her head. “I’m not saying it was your fault— urgh,” she groaned. “This is ridiculous; you needed treatment and so what? It happens. I mean— it happened. And it was taken care of, and it’s over,” she said. She could feel her heart pounding. “It’s over,” she repeated trying to reassure herself.

            “You can forget it no more than I,” he said, leaning back once more in his chair. “A memory I shall forever be saddled with thanks to your overzealous attempts to be the noble healer,” he sneered.

            “My overzealous— you were growling at me about assisting or leaving!”

            “Then you should have left! Surely they taught you during your training that when a patient is in a compromised state of mental faculties that you are to make the decision that best benefits the patient’s well being?”

            Hermione’s eyes grew wider as she stared at him. “And my judgment call was for the benefit of your well being— you needed— you—”

            “Say it, Hermione Granger, you cannot humiliate me any further though you certainly seem intent on trying.” He snapped, though his voice fell a bit as he finished his sentence. Severus Snape leaned his head back against the high-back of the chair and waited for the woman in front of him to retort.

            “I’m a healer,” she said.

            “Who took pleasure at my embarrassment,” he snapped.

            “Who wanted you to be relieved,” she snapped back and then closed her eyes.

            “Your chance to bring about a humiliating situation—”

            Her voice rose in anger. “It happened! You were in a state! I had no intentions of embarrassing you! We’re not all like you, Snape! Not everyone takes pleasure at the misfortune of others!” she could feel her face flushing beyond a blush; and her head was throbbing with the pulse of her racing blood pounding through her temple. “I shouldn’t have assisted you,” she snapped. “It was a judgment call that I made thinking it was best for my patient, but clearly it was erroneous. And I came down here to follow up on my judgment call, not to gloat, not to rub salt in your wound, but to see that you were alright, and clearly you are just fine, but you assume that everyone is just like you and that I could have had no other reason for being here or allowing what happened to happen!” she shouted.

            “Are you quite finished?” he snapped, standing at once from his chair. But the sudden movement jarred a muscle spasm in his arm and he leaned heavily forward against the desk. Hermione gasped and rushed forward but stopped at the side of his desk as he waved his hand in your direction. “I’m fine, stand down, you daft woman.”

            Hermione held her tongue. She was ready to lash out just as he had; ready to spit insults at him, but instead she drew in a steady breath and exhaled slowly. “I am your healer, and obviously I was mistaken, you are not fine. Sit down. I should look at your shoulder.”

            Severus tilted his head to the side, gazing at her as if she’d gone mad. “You have done enough examining for one day—”

            “Sit down!” she snapped and pushed all of her weight down into his shoulders, watching as he sank a bit unceremoniously into the chair. “I am your healer; assigned here by St. Mungo’s Facility of Magical Maladies, and whether you like it or not I’m the only option. I’m not here to humiliate you, contrary to what you may think; and at the risk of crossing the line I think maybe you should learn to control yourself,” she said and then crossed her arms over her chest in triumph.

            He narrowed his eyes at her and then turned his head to the wall. “Go away.”

            “This is not a game, Severus Snape. You may still be a professor, but I am not your student.” She said. She moved around behind his chair and then knelt down beside him, taking his arm forcibly in hers, rotating it away from his socket as she turned it about this way and that. He did not protest but she noticed his twisted expression as he struggled to fight against the pain that was etching into his features. “I performed your treatment to the letter, you should not be having muscle spasms unless you are developing further complications,” she said tersely. She squeezed his shoulder and he cried out. “Sorry,” she muttered.

            “Leave me alone,” he grumbled and twisted his arm out of her grip, though she noted that it took some effort to do so. “I do not want nor do I need your assessment of the situation. Muscle spasms are a natural part of this debilitating condition, you daft ninny.”

            “Yes they are. But not when you’ve received fresh salve only just a few hours ago. That salve is meant to ease your muscles for twenty-hours at least in attempt to allow them to heal.” She stood up and smoothed her hands down the front of her robes. “It’s no wonder you aren’t showing any signs of improvement. The treatment clearly isn’t working if you’re still having spasms shortly after it has administered. Why did you never report this to Poppy?”

            Severus simply shook his head. He would not meet her gaze as she moved to the other side of his chair. Her hands gripped his left shoulder and tugged it out and away from his body. There was no physical resistance or signs of pain written on his face as she rotated his arm. She closed her eyes for a moment trying to think about the green potion she had administered to the muscle damaged area of his shoulder. It had been the right. She had been correct in assuming it was severe muscle damage. “I need to examine your scar,” she said.

            “Are you deaf? Or simply dumb? Though I would hardly expect the latter to remain employed with Mungo’s for as long as you have, they are bound to surprise me yet,” he sneered.

            “Severus Snape,” she huffed. Then she shook her head. “Do not make me immobilize you. I will do it, and I will strip you naked to see that scar if that’s what it takes. I’ve seen you once today and have no qualms with seeing you again.” The fire in her eyes was lit as she waited, calmly tapping her fingers against the side of her leg. She’d never been forced to use the Immobulous curse against a patient; though she’d seen it used in more combative patients. Hermione hoped that he was not going to call her bluff and that the threat of humiliating him, though she had no intention of doing so and hadn’t meant to earlier, would be enough to force his cooperation.

            Severus Snape sighed. He cast his gaze to the floor and stood slowly from his chair. His shoulder did not spasm as he stood and he was able to remain upright steadily balanced without needing to lean against the desk. She watched as he slowly shed his long black teaching robes, letting them slide back over his shoulders and land in the chair. The man was donned in a long-sleeved high-collared black button-down shirt. She found her eyes raking over his torso; the number of buttons from his high collar down to the edge of his shirt that tucked into his trousers made her dizzy just trying to count. She watched his fingers slowly undo the top button; and then progress to the next button. His hands trembled and she frowned.

            “Let me—”

            “No,” he said but would not lift his gaze to meet her.

            “I’m not going to stand here all night while you unbutton your shirt because you are too stubborn to accept assistance due to your bruised ego,” she said and stepped toward him. The space between the back of the desk and his torso was small but she squeezed into it, her back pressed against the edge of his desk. She brought her fingers up to his hands and pushed them gently aside. He kept his head to the side and his eyes cast downward as she undid each button with ease; moving swiftly down his torso until she came to his trousers. Tugging on the soft material of his shirt she untucked it from his trousers and finished unbuttoning the garment. Hermione moved her hands to the top of his shoulders and pushed his shirt back, letting it fall naturally down his arms.

            He moved slightly, sliding his arms out of the sleeves, but still he refused to look at her. She found eyes roaming over his neck. It was something she hadn’t allowed herself to focus on during his treatment earlier. But they were there; covered and hidden by his high collar and robes. The two puncture marks on his neck; now little more than two faded scars. The two scars that had been responsible for his death; so she had witnessed, even if it had been mostly smoke and mirrors. For a moment she forgot herself and reached her hand toward his neck, longing to pass her fingers over the marks; but she pulled her hand back and then placed them on his right shoulder. She watched the slight wince cross his features but he quickly schooled his face to an emotionless mask.

            Hermione pressed her other hand on his chest. “Step back,” she said and waited for a moment before he stepped back. “Sit down,” she said and waited again until he slowly lowered himself into the chair. She placed both hands on his right shoulder, one on the front side and one at the back. “I need you to tell me whether it hurts more when I pull it forward or push it back,” she said and pulled his shoulder forward, rotating his arm slightly, and then pushed his shoulder backward, rotating his arm back.

            “They feel the same,” he said.

            Hermione frowned. “You’re going to need more treatment,” she said and then bit her lower lip. “And I am sorry about earlier.” He said nothing, keeping his eyes cast toward the ground. Hermione paused for a moment and then she raked her nails gently across the top of his shoulder before withdrawing her hands from him. “I know it’s late, but I think if you’ll follow me back up to the hospital wing—”

            “No,” he said.

            “Severus Snape—”

            “Whatever humiliating hell you are going to insist on dragging me through for my benefit I’ll insist that you do it here, so at least I can seek out the comfort of my own chambers immediately thereafter, rather than be confined to that sterile prison,” he said.

            With a hesitant nod Hermione agreed. “Alright,” she said. “But I’ll need to examine your spine again. I need you to lie on your stomach, you can keep your trousers on,” she said.

            “Let us be thankful for that,” he sneered and with great effort drew himself up from the chair, brushed aside her and carefully lowered himself onto the flat surface of his desk.

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The Massage