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The Book that Binds COMPLETE	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 16011 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N: Thanks to all you lovely people who left reviews. Please keep them coming as it keeps me writing.
Talented_Mrs_Lupin – Haha, it was definitely enjoyed by all.
LeWyKi/Anon – you’re right, she doesn’t seem to be thinking too clearly for some reason. I won’t give away anything but this chapter should answer some of your questions. You will notice, as I did with ‘The Quickening’, I’ve included/referenced a number of reviewer comments in the storyline. I was grateful for yours at it prevented me from having too much research on radios ;)
Lovey_Reader – Nessy does shine in this chapter. I hope you enjoy.
OracleObscured – Your review was too kind but, again, I’ll take it. The reason for the tricky wrist inclusion was two-fold – you know the first one and the second one was my favourite scene in ‘the song of lunch’ where he claims to have become a wrist fetishist (Mmmm). ‘We all do, honey’ – that totally cracked me up. ‘It takes so little to push me over’ – perhaps this time? ;)
HarryGinny4Eva – I’m so glad this story made you laugh. It’s been fun to write and I’m happy people are getting my sense of humour.
MzPearlz – great to hear from you. Keep reading!
Anon – thanks for reviewing. :)
Chapter 5 – The Snake that Shines
Her hand was gripping his cock. Tightly. What did she think it was, a wand?
She smirked into the darkness, feeling decidedly smug at having landed herself the Cock Ness Monster. He’d obviously enjoyed the performance almost as much as she had. But, if it weren’t for the fact that she could feel his life blood coursing through the veins bulging under her fingers, his deathly quiet might have made her wonder if he’d fallen asleep. Or dropped off the twig.
“I can take care of this if you like.”
She heard a quiet intake of breath. Followed by more silence. And then more.
Had he actually fallen asleep? Perhaps he had narcolepsy? Sleep apnoea? Locked-in syndrome?
“If I like?” His sudden, silky voice in her ear made her squirm.
“Mmmhmmm,” she affirmed, not trusting herself to speak.
More silence. She didn’t want to do anything until he’d given the go ahead so she just lay there, gripping him, like a statue holding a blunt weapon.
He winced in the darkness. If this was her technique, then maybe he would pass.
“You’ll need to help me,” she informed him. “I don’t know how you like it done.”
He raised an eyebrow—for his benefit only.
“How I like it . . . ‘done’?”
Even in the dark, she could imagine his expressive mouth wrapping around this phrase. The final position would have his tongue resting on his top palette, his lips parted.
Hermione gritted her teeth. No Hermione! There will be no tongues! A hand will do perfectly well. Okay, maybe two hands would have been better—they were pretty small after all and, well, he was quite . . .
She suddenly felt his large hand close over her small one and her breath hitched as he gently guided her up the length of his velvety shaft. Relaxing her grip, she let him glide her over the foreign, yet familiar, terrain of knots and ridges.
He was so warm and soft. Like Crookshanks as a kitten. But he made her feel something that Crooks never did (which was probably just as well). And her mouth suddenly filled with saliva. I said no!
As he drew her in a slow, steady rhythm, up and down, squeezing her fingers in pulsatile waves, her tongue responded with distracting circular movements on the arch of her mouth.
It’s not like cocks tasted particularly nice anyway, she told herself. All musty and musky and . . . more saliva. She swallowed.
And semen was worse! What did they say? Semen tastes like what you eat? Well, call her Professor Picky, but kipper and coffee come wasn’t something she had a particular hankering for.
Still . . . she stifled a moan, beneath that silky skin, his cock was so . . . fucking . . . hard. It made her want to . . .
No! Even if it didn’t taste like kippers and coffee, come could hardly be considered a delicacy! It’s not like you would order it as a palette cleanser in some fancy restaurant.
‘And for you Mademoiselle?’ The waiter would raise an eyebrow.
‘Oh, the semen granita looks nice . . . ‘
He was too quiet. Too controlled. Maybe he needed some ‘encouragement’ to open up his pipes?
Sighing, she realised that it was an exercise in futility. Her tongue was already limbering up. It had committed. She would be going down, mouth to monster and, she suspected, before long she’d have it roaring.
Well, this is hardly inspiring, he thought. A small, limp hand being squeezed like an empty glove against his cock. He’d rather do it himself. Maybe he should pretend to fall asleep?
Suddenly, the bedcovers were thrown back and, before he knew what was happening, his hand was pulled from his cock and replaced by . . .
“Oh Gods!!”
That’s the way! She grinned as she engulfed his knob, her tongue snaking down before taking its sweet time to explore every bulge and crevice it could reach. As she pumped the rigid shaft expertly with her fist, she dipped the tip of her tongue into his delicate slit, like a hummingbird sipping at his nectar, drawing forth a guttural groan that seemed to originate from his clenching abdomen. The raw carnality of his vocalisations, and the needy hand that began rhythmically clenching and releasing her hair, injected a fresh surge of lusty conviction to her movements and she took him deeply into her.
Merlin! She’d been foxing him. Where the fuck did she learn to . . .
“Uuuuuhhhhh!” Her teasing tongue had located his frenulum and was tugging at it mercilessly.
Gods!
His fingers suddenly delved into her hair and his hips thrust up to meet her. No you don’t! She pulled back and waited for his bucking to stop. This was her show and she would be the one calling the shots. When he’d settled, she set off again, exploring in the dark, lapping and sucking at the engorged flesh from base to tip and back, until she knew it well enough to find her way by touch alone. Then she trailed her tongue down the bumpy ridges of his scrotum before licking one testicle into her mouth, continuing to slide her hand in deft, rhythmic strokes over his saliva-slicked member.
His moans, deep and breathy, filled the room and she found it both erotic and moving. This man, so uptight and proper, and buttoned up to the hilt, giving way to his base instincts, now grunting and hissing with abandon, not a button in sight.
The tightening of his scrotum against her tongue told her it was just about time to make Nessy give up its secrets. Allowing the nugget to pop from her mouth, she engulfed his fleshy helmet with ardour, swirling her tongue around it as she changed her grip from the ‘stimulator’ to ‘the ejector’.
He’d lost all sense of his body. He’d become one giant pulsing cock, supported by some vestigial limbs and an even more emaciated brain. And he also seemed to have lost control of his vocal cords, the one part of his anatomy he’d enjoyed complete and replete control over his entire life.
She was relentless. And so frighteningly adept. And yet, between the wet sucking sounds, she was moaning. Like she actually enjoyed it—like she wanted him.
And that thought was his undoing. He cried out as he came. Arching into her, his taut muscles clenching and undulating around her soft mane. And in the darkness he could hear her gulping furiously, swallowing the most intimate of him—and he felt his chest tighten with a yearning, dusty and forgotten.
Hermione flopped back onto her pillow, her hair stuck to her face in fuzzy tentacles.
Mmmm, not bad! She wouldn’t be averse to throwing back another Snape semen granita if the opportunity arose. She rubbed her hand across her sweaty face and wiped her come-slicked lips. But would it be on offer again?
He hadn’t said a word the whole time. Nothing intelligible anyway. Maybe he hadn’t been keen? He’d sounded keen. She sighed and turned away from him as far as her hobbled hand would allow. Whatever. She was too tired to tie herself in knots trying to work him out.
It didn’t matter that she’d turned away. Nor that it was dark. He knew her face better than his own. He just wondered how he could ever look upon her in the same way again—now that she had awoken something in him, something that terrified him beyond reason.
***
He was torn at every moment between running away and ravaging her. Clearly the running away was going to be difficult. And the ravaging? Well, the fact that every movement she had made from the moment she slouched out of bed that morning screamed ‘piss off’ suggested that it might not be overwhelmingly well received.
He wasn’t dense. He knew why she was doing up the buttons on his frock coat so fast that they were at risk of pinioning his Adam’s apple like a scrotum caught in a zipper. But at the same time, he felt immobilised by the mix of emotions that were bursting, unbidden, from bubbling pits deep inside him.
What the fuck’s wrong with him? She was more than a little annoyed that she had pulled out all her best moves and given herself wrist strain after her one-handed marathon, only for him to have spent the entire morning practically mute and to be standing before her now, staring, like he was having an absence seizure.
“Do you plan to deliver your part of the lesson in mime too?” she asked as she dragged him over toward her dressing table to do her hair.
Now the snarkiness begins. He gave an inward smirk. She should know better than to try to out-snark him.
“Mime? No, I actually have a firm grasp of my topic,” he said mildly.
“That remains to be seen,” she muttered, as she pulled a brush roughly through her hair. “I suppose mime would require some level of emotion, or even a vague attempt at something slightly more expressive than a boiled potato, which might be a bit of a stretch for you.”
Merlin! She was pissed off. He wondered how far he could push her.
“I wish you’d informed me that mime was your usual mode of delivery,” he watched her in the mirror. “I would have made a special effort to attend your demonstration of Muggle electric toothbrushes.”
Her mouth fell open. What the fuck? What was he trying to say? That he thought it was funny? Was everything just a big joke now that he was all buttoned-up and proper again?
Her nostrils flared as she tried to maintain control. “Unfortunately, Professor, I suspect I would have had to ask you to leave as the noises you would have, no doubt, been making upon viewing my demonstration, would have been deemed unsuitable for a student audience.”
His back stiffened noticeably, before she pulled him over to her cupboard and removed an orange scarf to combat the inevitable chill of the dungeons.
“I see you’ve finally found a use for that mangy cat of yours.” He looked disparagingly at the furry bundle in her hands.
Her fingers clenched around the material as if it were his neck. “I beg your pardon?”
He raised an eyebrow in mock puzzlement. “I thought you enjoyed witty repartee.”
Witty yes. Fuckwitty no. She glared at him for as long as she dared before she knew they would be running late.
Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out the door, his long strides easily keeping up.
***
Hermione would have been quite pleased with herself if she didn’t have His Royal Snarkiness in attendance. She had managed to procure a Muggle video player and television set and was magically electrifying them in preparation for her demonstration. Severus, meanwhile was trying to execute some left-handed chalk drawings on the board. The second year students, however, seemed less interested in the devices and drawings, than in watching the small bushy-haired Professor and tall dark-haired Professor lurching about the classroom, as if engaged in some sort of uncoordinated barn dance.
Finally, they finished preparations and Hermione gave her introduction while Severus sat on a chair behind her, frowning, holding the basket. After delivering a brief history of radio and television through the ages, she proceeded to swap positions but Severus was so tall that she couldn’t sit. Instead, she stood behind him like some unconvincing extra beholding a superbly accomplished performer. Because that was, indeed, how he delivered the lesson.
His voice, rich and mellifluous, carried to the far corners of the room as he spoke with authority about the intricacies of electricity production, electromagnetic frequencies, sound waves, cathode ray tubes and even the anatomy of the eye and ear. She was so entranced by his vast knowledge and enthralling delivery that she imagined him, again, an actor in the spotlight, delivering a soliloquy, just to her. And she melted. Damn him!
By the time he’d finished, she was so distracted that she had very little to add except for her demonstration. She turned the television on and pressed play on the remote control to start the video. It was one from her personal collection. Her favourite actually. A movie made a few years previously called ‘Mesmer’. She’d watched it so many times that there were annoying flickers in some parts—parts she’d rewound and watched over and over again—but she definitely wouldn’t be showing those scenes today.
Now she watched him, the actor Alan Rickman, mesmerising, as he ‘treated’ the blind girl, and wished, again, that it were her. And as she watched, she was suddenly struck by a surge of familiarity, he reminded her of someone but she couldn’t . . . quite . . . place it.
“Couldn’t you have found something a little more appropriate,” Severus spoke into her ear.
“Have you seen it?”
“Yes I’ve . . . seen it,” he muttered.
“Well, then you’d know that nothing actually happens. He hardly touches them. It’s just his voice that . . .”
He arched a sardonic eyebrow and she flushed in response before brushing him out of the way. “Thank you class for today. I hope you learned a lot and I’d just like to thank Professor Snape for his assistance.”
But no one seemed to hear her, twenty four pairs of popping eyes were fixed on the screen watching Mesmer through a frenzy of flickering tape, passionately kissing the not-so-blind girl in the garden. Snatching up the remote control, Hermione flicked off the screen before hurriedly waving them out the door.
***
“Hold them still,” Hermione muttered.
She and Severus were standing side by side at his desk while a class of first year students worked in pairs to prepare their potions.
“Perhaps if you could manage to cut them straight?” Severus suggested in a less than helpful tone.
He was holding a bunch of roots with his left hand, while Hermione chopped them with a sharp scalpel in her right.
“You keep releasing them when I get near.”
“Maybe I don’t want your errant cutting divesting me of a finger.”
“Maybe you should be more concerned about your snide remarks divesting me of the desire to help you,” she replied, glancing up to make sure no one was listening to them.
Severus huffed but grasped the roots with a little more conviction.
She leant close to his ear. “It’s as if you’re avoiding touching me.”
He paused before responding. “I don’t need to touch you.”
“What do you mean you don’t need to?” Hermione could feel her hackles rising again.
“I can touch you . . . without touching you.” His voice dropped impossibly low.
Hermione shook her head. He really was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a total mindfuck.
She threw him a look that told him as much.
For Hermione, his slanted gaze in the direction of the students should have been the first sign of trouble. But it wasn’t until he tilted his head slightly towards her, not enough to suggest he was doing anything other than focusing on the task at hand but enough for him to address her, lips barely moving, that she realised what was happening. His slick, creamy voice was low enough to get lost within the general hubbub of classroom activities but perfectly clear for her to pick up every . . . single . . . word.
“Last night when you were pleasuring yourself,” he breathed. “I imagined that it was my cock sliding through your juices.” And the word ‘juices’ was enough to suddenly release a squirt of hers. “And when I listened carefully, I could hear the change in tone as that instrument slid inside you—as it was clamped inside the walls of your pussy. And my hand pulled my cock in perfect time with each . . . thrust. Every time you pushed up into yourself, I pushed inside you too. My hips were rocking deeper and deeper as you plunged it further and further into your clenching cunt.”
Fuck that word felt beautiful as it bit into her. Hermione moaned quietly, both pleading with him to stop and begging him to continue.
“I could hear your arousal. Not just your panting. But the wet sucking sounds of you pumping into that ripe, dripping hole. That’s when I licked my hand. My mouth was full of saliva. And I rubbed that juice, your juice, all over my cock, marinating it."
Hermione dropped the scalpel and pressed her hand against the wooden desktop, her head bowed and hair hanging over her face, shoulders heaving.
He leaned closer, his voice gravelly. “When you pulled it out to tickle your clitoris, my tongue was out too, rubbing against my lips, your lips. I was licking and sucking, probing and plunging, tongue-fucking you.”
Hermione bit her lip to stifle a groan. Her knickers were soaked through and her thighs damp with the overflow. Her pussy was clenching and she knew she wasn’t far off.
“And you felt me, didn’t you? My finger rubbing against yours. Only it wasn’t rubbing against you, it was rubbing inside you. Two fingers up against your front wall, massaging that spot, pressing that release button, and feeling you tightening around me—the tension building as I rubbed, knowing you were about to come. And suddenly the explosive contractions, shuddering and clenching, as your cunt gushed, squirted, flooding my palm with your release . . . “
“Gods!” Hermione cried out as she came, her legs buckling under her.
Severus cleared his throat and looked at the stunned students. “Don’t worry. Professor Granger has just cut herself. I will take her out the back . . . for some . . . treatment.”
He practically carried her to the back of the classroom where he opened the store room door.
“Do you have your wand?” he murmured.
“Mmmm?” Hermione was still in a daze.
“Cast silence,” he instructed her.
“What?”
“Cast fucking silence,” he hissed, slamming the door behind them.
She did as instructed. Then he pounced. Crushing her against the shelves, he mashed his mouth against hers. She opened to him and their tongues battled, licking and sucking and swallowing. She rolled against him and jars came toppling off shelves but they continued to devour one another hungrily, desperately, as if the answers to each one’s needs lay inside the other, just out of reach. He growled and sucked as she whimpered and licked for minute after minute, ingredients raining down on their heads. And finally, they realised they’d been gone too long.
Hermione cast a quick tidying spell on both of them, but when they returned to the classroom, faces red and chaffed and hair tousled like circus clowns with badly removed makeup, even the first years weren’t fooled.
“It was quite severe and required more . . . treatment . . . than expected.” Severus frowned, daring any of them to suggest otherwise, even by their expressions.
Hermione noticed ingredients hanging from Severus’ hair and the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“You might want to dismiss them,” she whispered.
Severus frowned. “But there’s five minutes of class time left.”
“You really need to shower. . . I could help you if you like.”
He remembered what had happened the last time she’d offered to ‘help’ him.
“Class dismissed!” he bellowed.
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The Book that Binds *COMPLETE*

The Book that Binds COMPLETE