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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.

Chapter List
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Somewhere within the dungeon walls of Hogwarts, a snake was beginning to shed a little bit of its skin.
He deposited the Daily Prophet on the simple writing desk he kept within his personal chambers, the delicate paper fluttering as it was tossed gently onto the smooth wood. Like its owner, it looked innocent enough on the outside. On the inside, though, thought-provoking and potentially sinister forces could be at work.
Before he addressed that bit of newsprint, there was another piece of paper that he needed to confront.
He moved to a corner of his study, bringing out his wand and releasing the binding spell on a small bookshelf. It swung outward on hidden hinges, revealing a small compartment in the wall that held a few thin notebooks. He pulled one from the stack, bound in a cover of soft red stock. He brought it over to the desk, placing it gently besides the newspaper.
The fact that he had become increasingly reclusive in the last five years was not lost on him. Until the end of the war, there had been a tremendously important mission driving his every action, and then...well.
He’d had to maintain a rather erratic and sometimes brutal persona for too many years in order to be able to move within, and be excluded from, certain social circles.
And then he’d been left for dead at the end of it all, no doubt in part because of his horrific behavior.
He couldn’t be truly sure how his long-term modus operandi may have warped his ability to empathize with others; to not see them as pawns in a larger game...and to be able to draw in and reciprocate the love of another. It had been a very long time indeed since he’d considered himself to be truly in love.
He hadn’t exactly lost touch with who he really was inside; rather, the release from having to maintain his darker persona to the letter, and suffer all of the relationships with those connected to the Dark Lord, had left his mind open to other pursuits—but he hadn’t exactly flourished in his new-found freedom. He’d tried to fill the void that had been left with outright reckless abandon in pursuit of material for his ill-conceived book.
Standing over the desk, he gazed down at the little red notebook. It didn’t actually hold much—a second, better copy of his notes from five years ago for edits to his original manuscript, and something else. He lifted the front cover slowly, reverently, exposing a small piece of parchment tucked inside. The delicate handwriting on the note lept from the page, and his chest tightened as his eyes skimmed her words.

“Please, release me from the spells you’ve placed on me. I know about the book you’re writing.”
-H

Before receiving her note, it had been months since he’d cast a locating spell on her that he’d believed at the time to be harmless; he’d just wanted to test its efficacy for the book. At least, that’s what he’d told himself at the time to justify its use. It had obviously been far too potent to be used inside such a heavily-warded place like Hogwarts.
He inhaled sharply, considering the emotions that must have driven her to write such words to him, and let the cover of the notebook drop over top of her note. Beyond the begging for release of spells, the last statement about the book was incredibly vague. Had it been a threat? He sniffed.
She’d always been so brave before...had she really been so afraid that she had to resort to written pleas?
Confronting that little memory of the past had a strangely cleansing effect on him; he suddenly felt more full of resolve and confidence than he had in years.
That version of Hermione Granger may not exist anymore, in the same way that—with a little hard work—this version of Severus Snape might not exist for much longer either.
He didn’t care why she was doing what she was doing, bizarre as it seemed. If his immediate future portended a highly-sexualized battle of wits with his former student, so be it. He deserved whatever she had in store for him.
She, in turn, deserved to experience the best of what he had to offer as an enemy combatant.
Pulling back the desk chair and taking a seat, he opened a shallow drawer containing an array of small tools and writing implements. He pulled out a pair of long tweezers, which he used to unfold and open the newspaper, exposing the ads she’d circled with that garish Muggle ink.

“Help Wanted: Have manuscript, want to collab. Send writing sample.”

His eyebrows rose so high that they almost reached his hairline. Now THAT was something.
Her note from so long ago had implied to him that she only knew about the book he was writing; he didn’t think she’d seen it. Perhaps she had. The opportunity to send this...writing sample...could be an interesting challenge. His mind starting to race, he skimmed the next ad.

“Missed Connection: Left mess for you. Awaiting punishment.”

For the briefest moment, the lower half of his jaw seemed to disconnect itself from the rest of his face.
A mess?
His wand out, he stepped through the door of his chambers and into his classroom, the shadowed tables and chairs faintly lit by a few sconces on the walls. All of the tables were bare, as equipment had been put away at the beginning of the break, and wouldn’t be brought out until just before the students arrived.
The only object that could be of particular interest in the room, really, was his desk at the front. His adrenalin had surged somewhat back in his chambers as he read over her challenges; he could barely contain the eagerness in his steps as he strode deeper into the room.
Hours later, and exhausted from attempts to uncover what she’d done by every possible means—scouring the classroom and his inner chambers with every revealing spell he knew, he sat back down at the desk, releasing a sigh that seemed to originate from the deepest part of him.
He’d wasted so much time, and he had so much writing to do.
But, in his search for this mess that she’d supposedly left him, he’d had ample opportunity to mull over some rather interesting ideas. After assembling some materials, he got to work.

***

Another dinner in the Great Hall without him in attendance. She honestly wasn’t surprised at his absence, but she’d wanted to see him at least once today all the same. After he’d spied on her in the library, she’d left her evening open, just in case he’d decided to act.
Sensing him watching her through her own perception—or believing that he was out of sheer paranoia—was one thing; knowing he was hiding nearby was another. She felt like she was cheating a bit with her necklace and its ability to alert her to his presence, but it was required equipment for the vast majority of her experiments.
She’d been rather heavy-handed with him—setting at least five experiments in motion for this week alone, with one verified as complete simply because she’d been an active observer. Two others were intended to open channels of communication...or, as a small part of her hoped, incite opportunities for retaliation…
She shuddered as she made her way down the empty corridor towards her chambers, though not from the cold that was settling in now that night had fallen.
To heighten the sense of adventure, or maybe to increase her luck, she’d left her charmed necklace in her room tonight. The skin under her thin blouse was prickling with goosebumps; the silky material provided too much friction, and too little warmth.
A heavy shawl would be nice right about now…
She grimaced slightly at that unbidden desire for comfort—she was in the heat of battle. Something wrapped tightly around her might make her look like she was on the defensive, or inhibit movement of her arms.
It wasn’t something that she’d ever want under normal circumstances, but here, tonight, she hoped that she looked like easy prey.
With a growing sense of trepidation, she reached the door to her classroom. The knob felt ice-cold in her hand as she turned it, and another shudder racked her slender frame as she leaned her shoulder into the heavy, oaken surface. The door to her classroom had to be the heaviest and least-forgiving in all of Hogwarts. There must be a jinx on it. Just like there’s a jinx on my love life.
Swallowing hard but not missing a step, she strode confidently into the echoing, dimly-lit chamber. She was very much looking forward to the warmth and energy that would be captured and held by the walls of this room once her precious students had arrived.
It had taken her only a few months into college to realize that she didn’t want to simply pursue knowledge and hold it within herself; she wanted to share all of it, to teach. She wanted to emulate those teachers in her life that had imparted so much to her, and had helped her to become stronger—not just in magic, but in character as well.
She only saw Muggle Studies as a first step in her teaching career. She would set the highest possible bar for the curriculum, hopefully imparting the perfect mix of empathy, usable skills, and history to her students—like a finely-honed potion recipe.
Yes...just like a potion. Stired deftly, by an elegant, strong hand...with long fingers, gripping....
She blinked hard, the only visible indication of how far her mind had derailed. She was almost disappointed as she reached her heavily-warded chamber door. A small, but warm and comfortably-furnished bedroom awaited her on the other side...and all of the potential excitement of the evening would evaporate as soon as she stepped over its threshold.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the nearest sconce was flickering slightly, and her eyebrows lifted expectantly. The errant behavior of its flame, barely noticeable unless your eye was trained to look for it, was indeed what she’d hoped to see.
Someone besides her had been in this room since she’d left for dinner.
Wand now out and clutched tightly in her fist, she went to release the wards protecting her lair...and found that they’d been changed; completely re-configured.
So, that’s how it’s going to be.
Her face fixed with a mixture of anger and deep concentration, she spent the next twenty minutes releasing the wards one by one, shivering and tense by the time she’d finished. Not casting a warming charm on herself as she worked seemed a fitting punishment for her failure to properly ward her chambers.
Wards off, she paused, considering what could be waiting for her inside. There were too many things that he could have done once in her room; the severity of any of it really just depended on his motivation. This blatant break-in of her personal space said that he was looking to put her on her guard, at the very least.
The distinct thud of her heartbeat grew faster, stronger, the organ feeling like it wanted to pound its way right out of her ribcage. She could imagine it succeeding in its escape as soon as the door was open, exiting her chest and projecting itself into the room, saving her body from the multitude of hexes that could be waiting for her on the other side.
This is what I’ve been waiting for, right? She’d considered so many possible outcomes to her actions. Her skills and experience in—well, everything—paled in comparison to his, and she knew it.
She twisted the doorknob and yanked it open, a blast of blessedly warm air hitting her face and ruffling her blouse. She stepped over the threshold, pulling the door shut slowly behind her. Leaning against it, she slowly took in the room.
The small room had three lamps of various sizes, and all of them were lit, instead of just the two that had been on when she’d been out. All four of the wall sconces were lit as well. The overabundance of light made the room feel clinical and harsh; it was hard for her to survey anything comfortably, but extinguishing any of the lights would mean that she couldn’t easily see things lurking in the shadows.
First things first, Miss Granger.
The base of the floor lamp beside her reading chair had a false bottom. Empty. She hissed through clenched teeth, gripping her poor wand so hard that she was lucky she didn’t snap it in two. Her necklace was gone.
Clever fucker.
Using her wand, she pulled the bed away from the wall just enough to be able to reach behind the headboard. The small cardboard box holding the invisibility cloak was still there, affixed to the wood with a binding spell. She pulled it out and opened it. Shit.
She felt her vision flicker with darkness around the edges as the gravity of her losses tonight began to hit her.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She took a deep, cleansing breath and threw the empty box on the bed. Not yet. Not tonight. You aren’t nearly done.
With her invisibility cloak, it was entirely possible that he was still in her room, or in the classroom, though something inside of her told her that probably wasn’t the case. There was potentially one way to be sure, though.
She’d learned a rather clever spell in college that would let her know if she was the only person in a room. Another flame-based spell, it would be just as helpful as the one cast on the sconce out in the classroom. She just had to get a particular type of candle from a box in her desk drawer.
Her desk. Her tired gaze finally landed on it, the glaring light of the room really starting to take a toll on her eyes. Several sheets of parchment littered the desktop, and they certainly did not belong to her.
Slowly, she approached the desk, and as her eyes landed on the words littering the pages before her, she sank into the chair that seemed to be pulled away just enough from the desk that she didn’t need to adjust her position in it.
Spells, lights, hexes, and burglars all forgotten, she began to read.

***

Squirt Gun
“You have to moan into it,” he murmured against the delicate shell of her ear. At this, she scoffed softly, turning her face slightly towards him, brushing her cheek over his lips.
“This is no joke.” His tone conveyed the truth, and with a small frown, she turned her face back towards the simmering liquid, which writhed and churned like a tumultuous gray sea within the cauldron on the table before them.
He grasped the soft nub of her earlobe between his lips, sucking the succulent bit of flesh between his teeth and biting down gently. He was pressed so close against her side that he could hear the beginnings of the exaltation building in her throat even before it poured from her ripe lips.
The sound was exquisite, and the potion agreed, for it heeded her command and instantly turned from stormy gray to dark, ruby red.
Reluctantly, he released her abused lobe and stepped quickly away from the table to allow her to finish the work of cooling and bottling up the potion. Their clients were waiting, and it would lose its potency within a few precious hours.
He knew that they were both thinking the same thing at this moment—that it was a shame that they couldn’t test the potion for themselves before delivering it.
They ran an odd little business together. Clients who were having difficulties, or simply wanted to try something different in the bedroom, could turn to their very discrete services and procure any matter of enhancement potions and charms.
Some clients wanted the delivery of their order to be made by surprise. Such was the case with the couple they had brewed this particular potion for—married for just a few years, though known quite well to them both. Dear friends to the Potions Mistress; annoying twats to the Potions Master.
The method of delivery was her idea—once the potion had cooled, it would be contained in a muggle child’s water toy.
They’d taken turns observing their clients’ habits and schedules, and decided that delivering the potion while they were at home, probably through an open window, was the safest route—both for themselves, and for maintaining the reputation of this particular couple.
“As these are your close...friends,” he said, quite loudly and coloring the last word with a hint of disdain, then letting his voice drop lower, “...is your intention to...observe...the results of the potion?”
He kept an eye on her from his standing position behind his desk, his hands busily shuffling some bits of parchment around on its surface. She didn’t speak, but he could see the pink flush of her skin, blooming from just under the neckline of her blouse, creeping its way slowly up the pale column of her throat.
She cleared her throat loudly, and he could barely contain a smirk as the words that spilled from her lips rang out with that signature, bossy tone of hers.
“While I’d like to know if the potion works,” she snapped, “I certainly do not want to catch sight of his...prick.” She punctuated “prick” with a harsh snap as the plug was driven home into the handle of the small, clear green toy. He eyed it, clutched within her elegant fingers, with a significant amount of loathing.
Much to his dismay, she’d insisted on practicing with the thing for several days beforehand, shooting liberal streams of water at his crotch and backside at random. Revenge for her flagrant disrespect was coming, but not just yet.
A short while later found them just outside the couple’s living room window at the ground floor, listening as the pair talked about some boring, work-related drivel. The husband was seated in a rather ratty-looking wingback chair; the wife, just a few feet away on the sofa with her legs tucked under her. Perfect for what his devious partner had planned.
He watched in rapt fascination as the stream of red liquid ejected from the toy in her hand and through the open window, hitting the husband square in the face and interrupting the dull and seemingly endless complaints that he had been unloading on his woman.
He’d be unloading something quite different on her soon.
The perplexed husband sputtered and blinked, bringing his palms up to wipe the potion from his eyes. His wife had immediately leapt to his aid, standing before him and trying to wipe as much of it away as she could with the front of her shirt.
Neither of them seemed to have their wands with them, he noted with a frown. What a foolish pair.
His partner wasted no time in dousing the wife’s now-exposed lower back with the remainder of the potion, completely emptying the toy’s chamber of its contents.
Without a word, they both backed slowly away from the window, now unable to see the pair, but still within earshot.
Just a few moments later, a loud, male groan rent the air, making her grimace like she’d just sucked on a flobberworm. While she shared his penchant for voyeurism, hearing an ex-boyfriend getting it on with his wife was apparently not her thing, and hearing two former students such as them wasn’t his thing, either.
She motioned to him then, turning away from the house and making her way slowly through the bushes and over paving flags in the small rear garden. Just beyond stretched a grass-covered rise, segregated from the empty neighboring property by a low fence that was falling down in places. She clammered over the sagging barrier, hiking up her long skirt and giving him an excellent glimpse of two long, bare legs.
As they moved further from the house, it suddenly became impossible to see her in front of him, as some clouds chose that moment to completely obscure the moon overhead.
He whispered her name as loud as he dared, not wanting to cast Lumos just yet. He stood stock still, listening for her. Her warm hand suddenly closed over his own, and he jumped slightly, startled. How could she see in this infernal darkness? He felt the difference in their ages keenly at that moment, and squeezed her hand gently.
With a little tug from her, they set off again for Merlin-knows-where.
The scene before him was slowly revealed as the moon was finally freed to cast its gentle glow upon them once more. She’d led him to a tree with a rather straight, thick trunk. Just thick enough to…
A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the branches swaying slowly over their heads as he pressed her firmly against the rigid column of wood, using the full length of his body to pin her. She was trapped between two poles—one gritty, rough and unforgiving, belonging to this field, and the rapidly hardening one that was attached to his own body, but belonged only to her.
He savored her taste like a fine wine as he dipped his tongue into and drank from the sultry heat between her parted lips. His hands fisted the soft material of her skirt, jerking it up to reveal the pale limbs that he hoped would soon be wrapped tightly around his waist.
One of her hands sought the back of his neck, carding her fingers in the hair at the base of his scalp; unbeknownst to him, the other snaked up to her cleavage and down the front of her blouse, where she slowly pulled a small, green object from her bra.
She broke their kiss, bringing his head down towards her chest with a harsh tug at his hair, whispering darkly into his ear. “I hope you’re ready for this.”
She shoved something down the back of the collar of his shirt, and then he felt it—a squirt, a trickle. His eyelids shuttered and his shoulders drooped with grief. She couldn’t have known what she’d just done.
It took less than a second to take effect.
He stepped back without a word, inadvertently yanking her along with him, as her hand was still embedded in his hair. He grabbed her wrist and tossed her arm away, then roughly grasped her at the waist to spin her around to face the tree.
“Grab it,” he ground out between tightly clenched teeth, taking hold of the swaths of fabric about her hips. As she leaned forward to place her hands on the tree’s rough bark, he dug his fingers into her soft flesh, yanking her back to angle her the way he wanted. Her infernal skirt finally hiked up past her buttocks and twisted into a knot by his fist, he admired the moonlight illuminating her bare cheeks.
He was too far gone to be anything but grateful for one less barrier to his swift entry. Bringing one foot between her two smaller ones, he parted her legs wide.

***

The tip of her tongue peeking out from between her tensed lips, she flipped the page over, exposing the final sheet underneath it...and quickly slammed her palm down on the desk in frustration.

Miss Granger, if you find the provided sample meets with your approval, and you are still desirous of a co-author, please send word.
-S

Head titled back, hands over her eyes, she let out a strangled wail. But the walls of her room didn’t answer back.
She wasn’t completely alone in her time of need. She had friends in a nearby drawer that could help disperse the storm clouds that had just begun to brew in her pussy.
Shoving her chair back, she stepped across the tiny room to her bedside table, roughly yanking its drawer open.
Where there should have been six vibrators of various shapes and sizes, there were none.
Trembling, she dropped to her knees in front of the empty drawer...and promptly began to laugh.
It was now quite certain that Severus Snape had walked the corridors of Hogwarts with six of her vibrators jangling around in his pockets; and now, they were probably all going ice cold in those dungeon rooms of his.
She hoped he was pleased with his stolen treasures. Like some kind of pussy pirate, he'd plundered her stash of sex toys and left her a rather salacious story that had left her soaked.
Her fingers would be getting quite a workout tonight. She hoped that they'd be nice and limber in the morning, as she had a lot of writing to do.
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H.G.'s Guide to Workplace Harassment