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H.G.'s Guide to Workplace Harassment	By : dezzu Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 8404 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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H.G.’s Guide to Workplace Harassment

Planning & Execution: The 4-Hour Rule
Whilst in the initial planning phase of an experiment, you may spend many hours brainstorming, studying, and assembling materials. However, there is but one rule by which you must absolutely abide by when it comes to planning and executing the discrete stages and steps of an experiment.
~
Never allow for a single phase of an experiment to take more than 4 hours to execute, from start to finish.
~
Why 4 hours? Consider trips and events that you’ve planned in the past.
Parties lasting over a certain number of hours can leave guests exhausted, or worse: bored out of their wits. You, as a host, may spend 4 hours or more preparing for a party in your home that only lasts 2 hours.
Trips requiring you to travel long distances, with no breaks to rest in between, can leave you worn out and unable to enjoy yourself once you’ve reached your destination.
As a researcher, and human being, your energy, endurance, willpower, memory, and ability to think quickly in the moment all have inherent limits.
If a phase in your overall plan can not be executed within 4 hours, do not attempt it.

***

A sleep-deprived, hungry snake is a dangerous snake.
A sleep-deprived, hungry, sexually-frustrated, wizard-shaped snake by the name of Severus Snape was awoken in his bed by a house elf delivering his breakfast.
His onyx eyes glinted with unrelinquished fury as he glared up at the ceiling, waiting for the small, innocent creature to depart his quarters before rising from the sheets and blankets that were twisted around him in angry tangles.
His shoulder muscles protested with painful tension knots as he dropped to the floor, clad only in his boxers, palms and toes making contact with the ice-cold stone as he started doing his morning push-up routine.
His movements were jerking and strained, his breath released in hissing gasps between tightly clenched teeth. He didn’t stop until droplets of sweat were falling from his face like soft raindrops onto the floor beneath him.
Skin glistening and panting heavily, he padded into the bathroom, grasping a small cotton towel from a cabinet just inside the door. Standing in front of his small mirror and making angry eye contact with himself, he wiped down his face, chest and shoulders with the fluffy bit of cloth before tossing it to the floor next to the sink.
Damnit.
Leaning down and resting his hands on either side of the wash basin, he closed his eyes against the sight of his weary face reflecting back at him.
The last few years, though not without their times of occasional trouble, had been relatively carefree when compared with the years of spying, death, and constant betrayal that came before. The end of the war, and the departure of Potter and his cadre of annoying friends, had been such a relief.
The year before their graduation had also been one of the strangest, most obsession-fueled periods of his life.
Determined not to dwell longer in further reflection of the past, as he had a hearty breakfast awaiting him, he opened his eyes, prepared to flick on the shower taps for a quick rinse...and stopped in his tracks as his eyes raked over his form in the bathroom mirror.
Where his pale skin should have been slightly rosey from his earlier exertions, it was bright red. Long slashes of tomato-tinged flesh crossed his chest, arms and face—the places he’d skimmed sweat off of just moments ago with the small towel.
He glanced downward at the crumpled bit of cloth on the tiled floor. His sharp eyes didn’t detect any discoloration on its white surface. He brought his hands up; the palm of the hand that had held it was tinged red. Bringing his hand to his nose, he inhaled deeply. Nothing. Nothing but the scent of his own sweat.
All of the moisture seemed to leave his mouth as a creeping sense of panic quickly needled its way up his spine. The change of skin color could be just the beginning of some larger set of symptoms. In a flash he was in the shower, cold water blasting his face and chest as he blindly twisted the tap.
Mind racing, water pummeling his face and chest as he considered what colorless, odorless substance could have been on that towel, the sudden hardening of his cock within his now soaking-wet boxer shorts made his dark eyes fly open in alarm.
The feeling of the harsh spray from the showerhead suddenly went from assaulting his skin like an ice storm to being soft, warm, smooth, and thick on the red portions of his exposed flesh. It was like his chest and stomach were being rubbed all over with slick oil, while the unaffected skin continued to prickle with the cold.
The intensely contrasting temperatures and textures instantly set his nerves on fire, while urgent shots of hot blood pulsed to his hardening length. Despite his panic, he managed to twist the tap just enough to equalize the water temperature before his poor cock turned into an icicle.
Gasping and swaying, he put his hands on the tiled wall of the cubicle to steady himself. He stared down at his fabric-covered cock in numb disbelief at the sensations being wrought on his flesh. The caressing water sent wave after wave of pleasure coursing from his chest directly to his loins. His hips rocked like he was being gripped and stroked incessantly by an invisible fist.
Water dripped from his wet, inky locks, framing his face as a guttural cry spilt from his gasping lips.
“Fuck!”
His balls had suddenly tightened to a painful extent; before it registered in his mind that he was about to blow, his whole body spasmed as his cock jerked, spilling his hot release inside the thin material that now clung to him like a second skin.
After a few harsh breaths, he stepped away from the showerhead, overcome in more ways than he could name. Rivulets of water, cascading slowly down his torso as it dripped from his wet hair, sent little tremors through his slightly convulsing frame.
He didn’t leave the shower cubicle for quite some time. When he finally emerged from the bathroom, his breakfast had gone completely cold. His eyes, though, held all the fire of a demon’s furnace.

***

Ankles crossed and legs swinging slightly under her chair, she was currently hunched over the latest Daily Prophet at a table in her favorite spot in the library. Breakfast that morning had been rather good, and she’d slept very well last night. Her calm outward countenance and elegant attire—a loose-fitting cream blouse and knee-length olive skirt—painted a picture of studious serenity. Her hair was even obeying her today; flowing in loose waves about her shoulders, with some strands around her temples pinned back.
After finishing the front page stories, she flipped past a few sheets, folding the paper in half in order to isolate the first page of the Classifieds section. She picked up her ballpoint pen, pausing and then circling a few of the ads in bright blue ink.
She put the end of the pen between her pursed lips, pretending to be reading a particularly interesting ad; in reality, she was listening.
She knew she wasn’t alone in the library now, but it had been unoccupied when she’d slipped in twenty minutes earlier. Ten minutes ago, the tiny charm at the end of the thin golden chain dangling about her neck had begun to hum. Now, it thrummed pleasantly against the skin between her breasts.
He was out of sight, but was certainly very close to where she was sitting.
Into her first day on the grounds as a professor and not a student, Olive had let her know what she’d been able to glean of the particulars of his schedule. It seemed to be essentially the same one he’d kept in her last year at Hogwarts, with a few exceptions.
After her arrival, he’d gone completely into hiding; taking all of his meals in his rooms, and only leaving them when called to meetings and to do his nightly patrols.
That was nearly two weeks ago. Two weeks in which he’d avoided making any contact with her.
She bit into the end of her poor pen, feigning annoyance at something she’d read on the page before her. Re-folding the paper to its normal state, she pushed her chair back and stood, stretching her arms towards the ceiling. She wandered away with the casual air of one who was simply getting up to look for something amongst the library shelves.
Moments later, she’d slipped out the front door.

***

From his position behind some shelves just a few feet away, his vision was completely focused on that thin, folded stack of paper sitting so forlornly in the middle of the empty table she’d been occupying.
The words and images on the front page were fuzzy; a moving blur. He could feel the circles she’d made in the Classifieds trying to escape their confines; burning their way from the inner pages outward, the blue strokes ready to jump forth off the table and wrap themselves tightly around his neck, putting him out of his misery.
His shoulders drooped. Where had the courage gone?
He’d been so sure of what he was going to do once he’d cornered her. Apparently, the bright, burning beacon of his anger over the events of last evening and this morning had been just another trap. Instead of fighting back, he’d simply lie down and let himself be crushed under her feet.
When his eyes had fallen on that silky, honeyed hair of hers, noticing how serenely situated she was in her favorite spot, he’d frozen. His throat had constricted, holding down all of the words he’d been prepared to hurl at her. Like some shy, love-struck fool, he’d remained hidden behind these infernal bookshelves...like they were actually capable of shielding him from his fate.
Whatever was going to happen next, his only clue—or the instrument of the next form of torture she’d planned for him—lay within those precious pages.
With no other options apparent to his exhausted mind, he sighed deeply and strode up to the table, grasping the newspaper by a corner with his handkerchief.
It seemed that the wizard-shaped black pawn piece known as Severus Snape would finally be getting around to reading those Classifieds after all.
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H.G.'s Guide to Workplace Harassment