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An Accidental Affair Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 29007 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
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A/N: Oracle – I really appreciate hearing from you. ‘And I've got to start tripping into more dicks.’ – Hahah! I thought that was your signature move? I am glad the deadly ‘ladle’, ‘Danger Granger’ combo didn’t quite do you in. And the Blackadder line was from Blackadder Goes Forth - talking about the front line advancing as fast as ‘an asthmatic ant with some heaving shopping’. I pretty well dissected that apart and stole the whole thing. ‘The Jolly Green Giant was just an innocent bystander’ – I believe he was quite heavily involved but I can tell you are reluctant to implicate him. I’ll, therefore, consider the glass option for Hermione in the future ;)

Chapter 5 – Lan Sengaja Affair

Hermione couldn’t quite believe that Snape had agreed to meet her at her tiny flat—although she had complained a lot about his dank office and the fact that the unsavoury décor wasn’t conducive to quality creative outputs. Perhaps he wanted to curb the enthusiasm of the Hogwarts rumour mill which was, no doubt, feverishly churning after the mysterious visitations by the former 'Golden Girl' to the office of the dour Potions Master. Or maybe he just wanted to be able to leave when he was sick of her, as she was, admittedly, rather difficult to shift when she managed to get her teeth into something—so to speak.

Before leaving his office the previous afternoon, she’d forced him to decide upon the potion recipes he was going to include in the first chapters. It had involved a lot of huffing and eye-rolling on his part, but she was pleased with the choices. They would work well with the incantations she’d chosen. She’d also managed to pry from him the name of the surprising artist behind a number of delightful ink drawings of rare plants and flowers adorning his walls—none other than the old sourpuss, himself, Severus Snape.

Again, he’d reluctantly agreed, after much cajoling and pleading, that she could take copies of them for the book. Hermione considered that they’d provide a little cultured elegance to a publication which was at risk of appearing, perhaps with good reason, purely pornographic. And he’d also taught her the ‘dictation’ incantation to enable her to automatically pen her thoughts without having to physically write them. All in all it had been a good outcome even if he still appeared, despite the fact she’d managed to induce in him an erection harder than an Arithmancy N.E.W.T, to mostly hate her.

Now she was hastily throwing together a lunch of salad, buttered fresh ciabatta and marinated chicken. At 1.30 p.m. on the dot, there came a knock at the door, slow and loud, ominous as hell. Her heart leapt. Unfortunately not with pleasant anticipation but rather, rampant fear, knowing that a hyper-critical someone was about to enter her miserly flat with its rising damp and tatty furnishings and potentially tear her pitiful existence to shreds.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door and was startled to see him looking so out of place, elegantly dressed and perfectly poised against the chipped railing. His white collar seemed to sit a little higher than usual, curving tastefully against his throat; his black boots a little shinier. Or perhaps it was an illusion arising from the rarity with which he ventured beyond the gloom of the dungeons; in the light he cut quite a striking figure. His hand held a small tin of something. Biscuits?

“Am I to stand out here all day?”

She released the breath she’d been holding and stepped back, allowing him to move past her through the doorway. Once inside, it took little more than a flicker of his obsidian gaze to take in all that was her life. His expression, as usual, remained inscrutable.

“Lunch is nearly ready.” Hermione found herself wringing her hands nervously and quickly replaced them behind her back.

He simply nodded.

“Take a seat at the table if you like.”

She gestured to the small, round setting in the corner near the window. She’d realised earlier, as she set a second place on its worn surface, that it was the first time she’d had a guest over in nearly a year. Would he think her life as sad and sorry as she did? No doubt. Probably moreso.

Hurrying from the room, she returned a moment later with plates of chicken and bread, and the bowl of salad.

“Can I offer you a drink?” she asked.

His gaze slipped from the window back to her. “Water.”

“I’m having home brew—ginger beer. If you’d prefer?”

“It’s 1.30pm in the afternoon.”

“I know. I waited.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say judging by the sneer of disgust that flickered across his face. She was only joking. Sort of. Fuck him and his judgements anyway! She’d pour herself an extra-large one. It was Saturday after all.

She returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of iced water for him and a glass tankard of ginger beer for herself. His eyes followed the tankard to the table before he picked up his water and took a gulp, watching her over the rim. He was clearly only just holding back on some derisive comment. She busied herself with serving up the food as though unaware that there might be an issue.

They ate in silence. Hermione pretended to be intently focused on her food but she snatched furtive glances, noting that he held his cutlery with a certain easy grace, similar to the way he held his wand. She had to admit that his hands had always fascinated her, even when she’d despised him as a student. He’d always moved so confidently and precisely but with a languid flair that suggested years of dedicated practice.

And now her masturbation fantasy was coming back to haunt her. She knew it had been a mistake. All she could think about were those elegant hands tearing apart that stupid wet dress and sliding down her naked body to her—

“Have you lived here long?”

She was shocked to hear what sounded like a normal question trip from his lips as he dabbed them delicately with one of her cheap paper napkins. Did he have to make everything look so utterly sub-standard in comparison?

“About three years,” she replied, taking a large mouthful of ginger beer, welcoming the familiar tingle on her tongue.

Now it was her turn to say something. Fuck. What could she ask him about? How he’d nearly died? That was hardly a topic for pleasant, meal-time conversation. His unrequited love for Lily Evans? Nope, that would go down like a sack of shit. Why he’d killed Dumbledore? Um, no.

“When did you start drawing?”

He took a sip of water before looking upward, remembering. “The ink drawings I started about twenty years ago but I’ve drawn for most of my life.”

Hermione imagined a young Severus consumed in his drawing, blocking out the world. Had he been lonely? Did he do it to combat the pain? She wondered why this insight into his likely past had never struck her before. Perhaps the selfishness of teenagehood meant that she had been more obsessed with his sour demeanour than in trying to understand him.

“Well, they’re beautiful,” she said, taking another swig.

His black eyes leapt to her face, scanning it. She wondered what he was looking for. Finally, he picked up his cutlery and gave a small shrug signifying what she imagined was either dismissal or grudging acceptance of her praise. Either way, he was clearly not practised or comfortable with receiving it.

Hermione drank more. With each mouthful she was feeling less awkward. It was part of the reason she enjoyed drinking. She felt she didn’t have to try as hard to be herself. Another sad admission. But there were plenty of those. She wanted to ask him what he meant by Gryffindor versus Slytherin courage in the domain of sex but she wasn’t quite that uninhibited. Yet.

“Do you think we’ll get it done in time?” she asked. “The book I mean.”

He looked condescendingly down his nose. What else could she have meant?

“We have to. I can’t afford to waste any more time on this.”

That irritated her. Clearly his time was far more important than hers. She had absolutely nothing better to do that to waste every waking moment writing smut for a sex book. Another gulp of ginger beer. Wow, that was quick. Empty already.

“More water?”

He shook his head, eyeing her warily.

She slid from her seat and made a quick trip back to the kitchen, returning with another full tankard.

He crumpled the napkin in his fist. Clearly she’d finally pushed him beyond his meagre reserves of tolerance.

“We have a lot to do today. You might want to slow down?”

“I’ll be fine,” she sniffed before taking another large swig.

He glared at her disapprovingly, his frown deepening with each emphatic chew. Then he made an exaggerated show of consulting his watch. Obviously he wasn’t planning to hang around longer than absolutely necessary.

They finished the remainder of their meal in silence and, by the end, Hermione had polished off the second tankard. A fuzzy warmth had settled into her muscles; which was lucky as she didn’t feel an ounce of warmth emanating from him. Collecting the dishes, she delivered them to the kitchen and returned with another full tankard. Before he could comment she flopped onto the nearby couch, only just managing to avoid spilling it down her front.

“We need to decide upon the content for the remaining chapters and work out who’s going to write them,” she announced.

Instead of joining her, he swivelled on his seat by the table and crossed his arms. She could barely make out his features which were silhouetted against the bold glare of the window.

“Only if you stop drinking.” His voice rumbled from the deep shadow of his mouth.

Hermione huffed. There was nothing she hated more than being told she was drinking too much. Her usual response was to suggest that the accuser 'fornicate off.' But there was a little more riding on this than casual friendship. She had lost some more serious friendships that way too but preferred not to think about that either.

“Only if you come and sit next to me.”

Shit! How suggestive had that sounded? Despite her slight inebriation, she was relatively sure she hadn’t consciously intended it to come out that way. She just didn’t want to spend the entire afternoon squinting at his bat-like profile. Subconsciously, however, she couldn’t be quite so sure of her intentions. Since their previous encounter, she hadn’t stopped ruminating over his ‘sustained solicitations of a serpent’ line, nor the ‘ladle’ she’d discovered in his trousers. These things were now, no doubt, so heavily encoded in her brain they were guiding her actions even without her being aware of them.

After a protracted silence, he slowly eased forward and pushed up onto his long legs, walking casually over before taking up a position at the opposite end of the couch. He swivelled slightly and propped his ankle on his other knee; one elbow leaned against the couch arm, supporting a thumb under his chiselled jaw and a stern finger across his upper lip, critically appraising her. Was that his intimidating look? If so, it was a fucking good one. She gazed down at the drink in her lap. Just one more tankard and she would be able to ignore just about all of him. Fuck.

Sliding the drink onto the small table beside her, she picked up a piece of parchment and quill, turning toward him but focusing on the paper in her lap.

“As I said yesterday, the next chapter is about oral sex. I’ll write a vignette from a female perspective and you can write one from a male perspective.”

She ventured a look at him.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he muttered.

Hermione only just supressed an eye roll. Did he have to make everything so impossibly difficult?

“What don’t you understand about oral sex?”

He tapped the finger on his upper lip before responding.

“I understand oral sex perfectly well. I’m wondering if I’m supposed to write from the perspective of a male getting a blow job or a male performing cunnilingus on a female or blowing another male?”

Whoa! Where the hell did that come from? Hermione was thrown. She hadn’t really thought about what the limits of the book should be. And his unwavering gaze was making her flustered.

“Just . . . just write whatever you like. Within reason.”

“And what would be considered outside of ‘reason’?”

Hermione swallowed hard. She was beginning to think that she might have made a mistake. She was convinced that he’d deliberately covered, and possibly even deliberately destroyed, the original copy of the book in the museum. But she no longer thought it was because he was some sort of prude. The ‘courage’ and ‘serpent’ lines, his ‘Magic of Seduction’ narrative and the current conversation all suggested that he might have far more sexual experience than she’d anticipated. She needed to be careful—otherwise she could imagine herself being pulled into some, potentially labyrinthine, exchange from which she may have trouble escaping.

“As long as it’s appropriate to the chapter heading, you can write about whatever you like.” She trotted the words out quickly, hoping it would put him off asking anything further.

His lips pouted slightly under his finger but, thankfully, he let it go.

“I figure there probably should be at least three chapters on sexual intercourse, maybe covering one or two positions in each.”

“And leaving out the other hundred or so?”

He looked genuinely perturbed.

How dare he look fucking perturbed! He hadn't even wanted to write the damn thing and now he expected over a hundred chapters? And who the hell had ever heard of one hundred fucking sex positions?

Hermione stared hard at the parchment in her lap. If he actually knew that many positions then she didn’t want to know about it, because she was only just managing to control herself and the thought of him doing her in a million different ways was just too enticing for her alcohol-fuelled brain to avoid. Her thoughts were more than ready to burn right through the middle of that fantasy—him ravaging her, throwing her naked body around like a rag-doll, pumping into her from every angle.

She heard a breathy groan and looked around. Oh fuck, it was her! Pull yourself together ‘Mione, you have an entire afternoon full of him to endure!

“We have only four days remaining so we’ll have to leave those for the next enthralling edition,” she stated drily.

He raised an eyebrow. Was that a hint of amusement glimmering in the depths of his eyes?

She quickly returned to the parchment. “And then I thought we could maybe do a sixty-nine chapter, something watery—bath or shower sex, and we might need to slot something in a bit earlier about hand jobs and fingering.”

“And that’s it?”

Hermione sighed, she just wanted her drink. “What else do you want?”

He didn’t answer. He just sat. Watching her. She suspected he knew exactly what he was doing. That he was doing it on purpose. He was fucking with her and not in the way she wanted. She wasn’t going there.

“You can write about whatever you want,” she said finally. “Within reason, outside of reason. Whatever. I don’t care. We just need to get on with it.”

Grabbing a bunch of parchment sheets from the pile, she held them out to him. He took them, his hand casually brushing against hers, never breaking eye contact.

Stop making me want to come! She pleaded with him in her mind. That was in her mind wasn’t it? She checked herself just to make sure.

“I'm going to start with oral sex,” she muttered.

“Why not?” he drawled, standing and beginning to unbutton his coat.

“Um . . . I mean . . . writing about oral sex,” she stammered.

His fingers stilled on his buttons. “It’s getting rather warm in here,” he said. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Oh.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I knew that. I was just . . . um . . . I just . . . Oh, fuck it!”

She snatched up the tankard and threw the contents back. In under ten seconds it was gone.

He stared at her.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to sit next to me anymore,” she said, picking up her quill.

He undid the rest of his buttons before removing his coat and tossing it aside. Then he proceeded to flick open the top button of his shirt. She could see a smattering of dark, downy hairs peeking out from under his collar. Immediately her fantasy brain tucked that little detail away for future reference. Oh, Gods she was pathetic!

He resumed his seat on the couch without another word but she did notice his tongue flick out to wet his finger as he turned the first page. She saw it too well. Looming so large that it encompassed the entirety of her vision. This was going to be utterly excruciating. Torturous. And . . . fucking hot.
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An Accidental Affair *Complete*

An Accidental Affair Complete