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.

Chapter List
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A/N: I do apologise for the month-long wait on this...but we've overcome some obstacles. This probably isn't as long of an update as many of you were hoping, but it has gotten the ball rolling once more, and the next chapter, should be up before the week is out.

It had only taken her a moment’s examination to determine the trouble. Extensive muscle damage that was hindering the progression of his treatment. Had she been a cruel witch she would have palmed his back for far longer than she had; allowing him that moment of ridicule he so desperately believed she was trying to force upon him. His skin was mostly smooth despite the extensive scarring; points of entry from the curse, various other physical scars that molested his back from the base of his neck down further to where his trousers covered his arse. The curious creature residing inside of her longed to trace each scar with her finger; yearned to feel the length of each one and know how they had come to be on his skin. This was the same curious vixen that had drawn a finger to taste him once she’d assisted him in his mortifying release.

            “Well?” he was seated atop his desk, as if it was a patient table and he remained shirtless.

            “You aren’t going to like it,” she muttered.

            “Spit it out, Granger, you can humiliate me no further,” he sneered.

            She narrowed her eyes an annoyed expression playing across her face. For a moment she considered giving him exactly what he deserved; humiliation. But her innocent streak of well-doing coaxed her down from the thought before she spoke. “You will require further treatment, another massage of sorts, to ease the muscles into a state where they can be more readily repaired.” She said.

            A long pregnant pause filled his office and for a moment Hermione was uncertain as to how to proceed. She knew full well that he had heard her; though his face gave little indication that this was true. His eyes were a brooding storm, the ever concealed mask of emotions that she could not read. She tried not to stare too hard into his eyes, but found for a moment that they were impossibly deep; dark and brooding. When he finally nodded his head she slowly released a breath she had not realized she had been holding.

            “Then I shall request leave,” he said and then slid down from the top of his desk. His footing was sure and he did not falter, but the tremor in his shoulders was more than visible. It made Hermione frown as she watched the man reach for his shirt.

            Her sudden motion surprised even her as she reached her hand out and placed her palm against the front of his chest. “This is ridiculous,” she said. His lips were pursed to speak, but before he could lash a string of insults in her direction she stepped closer to him. “I am perfectly capable of providing the treatment required, Severus Snape. Do not selfishly put Minerva through the strain of finding a replacement for your classes because you’re embarrassed by an over-sensitive bodily response,” she huffed.

            In that moment, for the briefest second, Hermione thought she saw his eyes soften and give way to a flood of emotions. Had she not been gazing so intently into his eyes she would have missed it completely and even as she stood with her hand firmly pressed against his chest only a few inches apart from him she wasn’t certain she had seen anything. But there was a slight flicker; had it been the embarrassment he so frequently mentioned? Or doubt? It was impossible to tell, but it had definitely been something. “Look,” she said, finding a rather informal tone slipping out of her lips as she spoke. “There’s no sense in making things harder,” she said.

            He narrowed his eyes at her and then placed his hand over hers, plucking it from his chest and letting it slip from his grip. “Miss Granger, if your lack of tact in this situation weren’t enough, your wording is just icing on the cake,” he sneered.

            “Oh grow up,” she huffed and pulled her hand defensively from her side. “I’m trying to help you—”

            “You’ve helped enough—”

            “Stop it. Just stop it.” she spat. It was seldom that she raised her voice with a patient, but for Severus Snape she felt the exception was warranted. Hermione closed her eyes tightly for a moment as if mentally anguished over how to proceed. She sighed and then opened her eyes to gaze at the man once more. “Repeating what has already been established is not going to solve anything. You need treatment and the most logical way to proceed is to have me continue issuing it. And like it or not that’s how we’re going to proceed,” she said. It was ridiculous to think that he needed to request leave to receive treatment that she was perfectly capable of administering.

            Again he was quiet for a long time and she hoped his silence was if nothing else a resignation to his fate. She was running thin on patience and low on tolerance for his childish outbreaks. Though she understood his distress it would do no good to keep harping on the matter. What had happened was done and over with as far as she was concerned. But the thought of his taste kept returning to her; haunting her. Thankfully he hadn’t seen her when she had so carelessly slipped her finger into her mouth, tasting his essence. It had been salty, a strange taste not entirely unpleasant, forbidden. It took great concentration to pull her mind from that memory as she gazed at him, waiting for another outbreak. But he remained silent.

            Hermione gazed at his desk chair for a moment. It was a high-backed chair but with a simple transfiguration it would do in a pinch. She tilted her head to indicate the chair and waited for him to move toward it. Severus stood quietly, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glaring at her. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll transfigure it first,” she muttered and then drew her wand from within her robes. A simple spell had the chair transformed into a wide-based stool. “Now sit down, please,” she said. Again she waited. But after several moments he finally shuffled toward the stool and slowly lowered himself to a sitting position.

            Hermione placed her wand back into her robes and then moved to stand behind him. His bare back was once more exposed to her and she couldn’t help but allow her eyes to linger over his scars. As she shrugged out of her robes, freeing her arms from their sleeves, she drew in a slow breath trying to calm her racing mind. Such a tortured man; and yet so bitter and insistent on turning the torture on her. She flexed her fingers and wriggled them in the air. They were still slightly tired from the intense massage she had provided earlier. But another less complex massage to ease his muscles into a more relaxed state wouldn’t be terribly difficult even if she was tired.

            As she rested both hands on either of his shoulders she felt him tense. Hermione pursed her lips and frowned. “Severus, if you tense at my touch this is going to take all night,” she said. “You need to let your muscles relax and let me do my work or you’re never going to be able to heal properly.”

            It was several moments with her hands just resting atop his bare shoulders before he finally sighed and slumped back against her body. She could not see his expression and for that she was grateful. No doubt it was the same blank almost pitiful stare that she had seen on his face during his first treatment; the look of humiliated dependence that had made her quiver inside when she had gazed into his eyes.

            She flexed her fingers; working them over his taught muscles and immediately they began to sting. As a woman not used to giving intense massages her fingers were baring the burden. But she continued to squeeze his shoulders; gripping at his skin as if slowly kneading dough. She pressed hard into the dips of space between bones; applying pressure with her thumbs at the base of his shoulder blades. She felt him slump forward a bit as she worked her palms at the tight space between his shoulders, rolling her hands up to his neck and back. His breathing had slowed slightly and she could feel the difference in his pulse as she worked her hands around his neck. He wasn’t relaxed but at least he had stopped fighting her.

            He groaned when she applied heavy pressure at the tops of his shoulders and Hermione couldn’t help but allow herself the tiniest of smiles. It wasn’t bringing her pleasure to know that she had caused the subtle release of the tension but rather that at least it was bringing him one step closer to a less permanent state of pain. Hermione longed to conjure forth lotion or oil; at the very least a salve to help ease his nerves but she feared if she stopped that he would assume she had finished administering her treatment. So she continued on, flexing her fingers, doing her best to ease the tension held so tightly in his muscles.

            It made her sad; her chest weighing heavy with sympathy for the man beneath her hands as she massaged him. Despite his nasty tongue and cruel ways over the years she had come to forgive him, though she’d never uttered it aloud. He had been particularly cruel to her but in her mind she imagined that he had done it with every intent of protecting her, not only from the evils of the world run by Voldemort but from herself. She was overzealous at times in her pursuit of knowledge and while his approaches had been less than civil she knew it was only to challenge her and make sure she didn’t become cocky and full of herself. At least that was what she chose to believe. At any rate the man had suffered more than most, and certainly more than any one man deserved to suffer.

            She was so lost in her thoughts about him and how terrible it must have been to live the double life serving two equally maddening masters, one on the side of good and the other fighting for evil that she didn’t notice when his head lulled gently back against her chest. It was a strange sensation but if the truth be told it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. Hermione bit her lower lip and glanced down, noting with relief that his eyes were closed. To meet his gaze would have unnerved her and her task was trying enough. She allowed her thoughts to linger for a moment; perhaps a moment too long, on the notion of the weight of his head and how it felt leaning against her. It was strange, the feelings the man continued to evoke in her, and for a fleeting instant she questioned her own intentions.

            She was a healer. And he a patient. But her code of conduct had become compromised through no fault of his. She had crossed a line, although thinking about how strangely pleasant his head felt resting against her chest was not a crime it was wrong, just as it had been when she’d tasted him. He was muddling her judgment and for no particular reason. He was not a handsome man by any normal standards and his personality left a fair bit to be desired, and while he was intelligent and cunning intellect alone was not enough to sustain her. It was pity though she was hesitant to write it off so simplistically. She found herself idling over the man in question because she felt sorry for him.

            With her thoughts in shambles, many tangents in all directions, she failed to notice that her hands had slowed and then stilled, resting gently against the tops of his shoulders. His voice jarred her attention and she jolted back, withdrawing her hands quickly.

            “Are you quite finished?” he asked. His voice lacked the acerbic attack which he’d attacked her with before she’d begun massing him. His words flowed slowly, almost languidly dripping from his lips as he questioned her. He waited patiently for her response.

            Hermione cleared her throat softly. “Does it hurt any less?”

            He gave a simple nod and then slowly stood from the stool. His limbs did not tremble as he stood and he did not lean his weight against the desk. She noted that he did not show a tremor as he turned to face her. His eyes were dark and his lips were pressed into a thin scowl. This looked more like the Snape she remembered, rather than the helpless humiliated man who had laid on the table staring off into the distance, submitting to her hands as she had administered his much needed treatment.

            “Your muscles need more work but I’ve done as much as I can for one night,” she said, turning her head to the side to avoid gazing at the man. She waited for his scathing retort. No doubt there was a snide comment on its way to her ear, biting from his lips with malice and sarcasm. But he remained silent. She found his lack of response unsettling. Hermione looked toward him and met his gaze. He appeared to be studying her, though his eyes betrayed no sense of curiosity or interest. “I’ll have to check up on you in the morning,” she said and then quickly added. “If it would make you more comfortable, I can make calls here, rather than you having to report to the hospital wing.”

            Severus Snape stepped toward her and Hermione felt her chest tighten. A strange tingling sensation shot up her spine and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. He took another step toward her and she felt her heart begin to race in her chest. Her mind was reeling and she was certain that a flush was flooding her cheeks as she stepped closer still. Her lungs ached as she held her breath, eyes wide, only to clench her fists at her side as he stepped beside her, slowly bent down and retrieved his shirt from the ground. He straightened and took three steps back until he leaned against the edge of his desk. She turned quickly around, her back facing him, feigning the need to give him privacy while he slid his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. But she had turned so that he wouldn’t see the embarrassing blush that filled her face. He hadn’t been stepping toward her at all, he only wished for his shirt.

            Hermione felt the sting in her lungs ease as she slowly inhaled and exhaled quietly through her nose. What on earth had she been thinking? That he was going to push himself onto her? That he was going to shake her violently for humiliating him? That he was approaching with the intention of relieving his tensions in another manner? Her mind thought a thousand things at once. But the one that she seemed to think the most was that he had been approaching her with the intent to kiss her. That, however, was ridiculous. Where in her crazed mind had that notion hatched? She was certain that she was losing her grip on reality.

            “The morning then,” he said, his voice once again stirring her from her thoughts.

            Hermione whirled around and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “The morning? Oh, yes, the morning. I shall drop by before breakfast, another massage may be in order, but I’ll bring a salve,” she said and then nodded to reassure herself. “If my theory about your displaced and atrophying muscles are correct, this shouldn’t take much to correct…then your other treatment will be more effective…” she let her voice trail off, the mention of the first treatment making her blush and this time she was unable to turn her face to hide it.

            He only nodded, but surprised as she was at his simple response, she turned on her heel without so much as a goodnight and fled his office. Hermione found herself practically racing through the corridors and stairways until she was locked inside her chambers. Her body collapsed against the bed. Her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. First she had tasted him, and then reveled in the gentle sensation of his head weighing against her chest. And then she’d gone insane thinking that he’d approached her with the intentions to push forth romantic advances. She closed her eyes, lying on her back, trying to think of a logical explanation for the whole scenario. But try as she might her brain could not provide one. It was rare that logic failed her; Hermione had spent her life building trust in reason and explanations only to have it all shattered by a man so vile that he should have made her blood run cold.

            But he was having quite the opposite effect on her. Hermione shuddered and sat straight up in bed. Could such a ridiculous notion be possible? And how had he managed to slip into her psyche completely undetected? She pulled her knees up tight against her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. Rocking gently back and forth on her mattress she muttered and shook her head. “It isn’t possible, I can’t possibly— no, it’s just not happening.” Hermione stilled and collapsed, rolling onto her side in her tightly curled foetal position. Her lips were quivering, her fingers shaking, but she could not fight the sensation that was slowly creeping through her body. “I’m attracted to Severus Snape,” she admitted aloud, thankfully to no one but her empty chambers.

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The Massage