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Doing it for the Order Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 72673 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 4
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
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: So it turns out I had enough time to get another one up before heading off. Hope you enjoy it. ;) DSx
Fox – ‘We've got some action lined up!’ – we do indeed . . . ‘And there's nothing sexual about it!’ – hahah, not yet! ‘Always found him manipulative and secretive’ – I’m the same. I understood him but didn’t really appreciate his methods. ‘English is fantastic, perfect wording every time’ – you are very kind. Unlike you, I only speak one language and don’t always do that well :) ‘I know OO reads and reviews all your stories’ – yes, she is extremely kind. She’s been my biggest supporter over the past year that I’ve been writing. I wouldn’t have written nearly as much without her encouragement. ‘have lots of sex -for inspiration purposes only, of course’ – hahah, Oracle calls it ‘field work’ – sounds good to me! Serious chapters on the way! x
OO – ‘Well I feel better now that they've talked things out’ – sarcastic beaatch! ‘I like angry Hermione’ – believe it or not, I can totally relate. ‘My brain is so warped’ – that’s why we’re friends. You may need to share. Although this chapter could put a bit of a clamp on the options. Let me know!
Kvarta – ‘Really forces you to read between the lines’ – yes, I’m making you work for this one! ‘all black and brooding among all that lace and fine china, frowning’ – yes, Sev and pink just don’t go together do they? ‘Does she has to be so bloody rude’ – she’s a teenager :) ‘My money is on old meadler’ – looks like there aren’t that many Dumbledore fans around here. ‘his POV this time’ – delivered! ‘back on chewing my finger off’ – you need to be writing with those fingers, no more chewing!

Chapter 6 – Back Order
“Let’s make this quick.” Snape sat down abruptly in the chair next to her before crossing his arms, his mouth clamped in a firm, disapproving line.
He was obviously in a foul mood. At least it was the Snape she knew.
Hermione snapped a book off the top of the pile beside her and flicked it open before shoving it in front of him.
“You might at least pretend to be engaged,” she muttered, glancing around the library which wasn’t particularly busy but she sensed that many of the students were surreptitiously watching them.
Good. The more that word got out that she and Snape were catching up outside of classes, the safer she’d feel in terms of discouraging anyone who would wish to harm her. Snape was formidable. Everyone knew it. So she was happy with that part of the arrangement.
The part she was less happy about was the fact that he wasn’t doing a particularly good job of holding up his end of the bargain, now examining his nails in an obvious attempt to ignore her.
She turned to him and leaned forward until the gap between them was mere inches. “If you expect me to willingly assist you to adhere to the conditions of the enchantment,” she murmured, sliding a piece of parchment between them and tracing her finger across it as though posing a question. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”
Snape huffed before shoving the fingernails he’d been inspecting back under his armpit.
“What would you have us talk about?” He slipped the words through barely parted lips, still refusing to look at her.
“Polyjuice.”
He looked at her then.
“For what reason?”
“For the sake of changing my identity. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing?”
He shook his head. “Not necessary.”
“What do you mean, ‘not necessary’? How else will I satisfy the enchantment?”
“Histomalleus.”
“Histo?”
“Tissues.”
“Tissue manipulation?” Hermione could feel her throat tightening with indignation. “So now I’m supposed to manipulate my tissues, is that it?”
Another bloody ridiculous caveat. Every time she thought she’d managed to mentally prepare herself for what was to come, something else was thrown into the mix. How many other bizarre details about the enchantment had they failed to reveal? She’d never cast Histomalleus in her life. In fact, she’d never even heard of it.
“If it’s just a matter of altering tissues, why can’t I just use ‘Engorgio’ or ‘Reducio’?”
“They are swelling and shrinking spells.” Snape enunciated each word as though she was thick.
“I know what they are,” she bit back.
Snape inclined his head in a patronising manner that made her want to slap him.
“The enchantment senses bodily features as its primary method of determining identity. Engorgio and Reducio change the fluid portion of the tissue but the cellular structure remains the same. Histomalleus alters the cellular structure. That’s what the enchantment is designed to detect.”
“Really?” She sat back in her seat, a look of pretend awe on her face. “Another astonishingly brilliant design feature. It’s almost as though the enchantment was created by someone with an intimate knowledge of cell and tissue biology. Maybe . . . I don’t know . . . a teacher or . . . even a Professor?”
He snorted and jerked his head away in irritation. “Are we done here?”
“Fascinating,” she continued, as she pretended to scan the book in front of him. She was still extremely annoyed that he hadn’t admitted to his involvement in creating the enchantment and she intended to make him as uncomfortable about it as possible.
“Well, if you’re done with mocking one of the most serious blights on both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, alike, I’ll be on my way.” He pushed his chair back from the table.
“What about the spell?” Hermione demanded.
Sighing, he raised a hand and beckoned his index finger at the pile of books beside her. Instantly the third book from the bottom was ejected, landing directly in front of her as the rest fell back into a neat stack.
“Page two hundred and twelve.” He indicated with his head.
He couldn’t know the contents of the entire book including page numbers? Could he?
Hermione just couldn’t resist. Snatching it up, she quickly flicked to page two hundred and twelve to find the word ‘Histomalleus’ printed at the top of the page. She nonchalantly tossed it back onto the table as he regarded her with a bored, ‘told you so’ expression.
“I suppose I’ll have to use up some of my valuable study time learning it,” she huffed.
“You’ll survive.” She heard him mutter as he turned away from her.
“Which begs the question why you can’t simply cast it yourself.” She stared at the back of his head until he swivelled around to face her with a loud exhalation.
“Another feature of the enchantment,” he drawled, “is that it detects the magical trace left by the caster of an incantation. Any indication that someone’s identity has been magically altered by another will be known. If you, yourself, cast the spell, there is nothing to detect.”
Of course. Another fucking feature. Hermione was so exasperated, she found she couldn’t even be bothered throwing it back at him.
“So when is our next joyous engagement set to occur?” she asked instead, dragging the piece of parchment to herself and picking up her quill.
“Friday.”
She looked up. “On the last possible day to fulfil the enchantment—again?”
“That is most convenient.”
Really? For whom? Still, she would need the extra time to mentally prepare herself. And to learn that fucking spell. Carefully, she wrote the day and date at the top of the parchment.
When she looked up again, Snape was peering down his nose at her.
“This isn’t an assignment.”
“Well, actually, for me it is,” Hermione snapped. “What time?”
He rolled his eyes. “Whenever you can manage to fit it into your extremely busy schedule, I imagine.”
“After dinner. 8pm.”
“Done.” He rose.
“Where?”
“My quarters.”
She looked uneasily up at him. “Why?”
“Practicability. Comfort.”
She couldn’t deny that leaning on the desk and being lifted to accommodate the height differential had severely bruised her elbows.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
She watched as he stalked away before tossing the quill down onto the parchment. They were such a terrible match—effortlessly bringing out the worst in each other. Friday was unlikely to be physically painful, she knew that, but she was less confident about the psychological and emotional toll. She would be in survival mode. He would just have to put up with it.
***
“Knight to C5.”
Ron was lounging back in one of the common room chairs as Harry leaned over the chess board, clearly taking the game more seriously than the redhead who had his Quidditch helmet in his lap and appeared to be rubbing some sort of lotion into the leather.
“Oh, look who’s here,” Ron announced sarcastically as Hermione staggered in the door, arms laden with books. “Where have you been?”
“In the library—studying.”
“Is that what you call it,” he muttered, continuing to rub vigorously with a grubby cloth.
Hermione was exhausted and not in the mood for snide remarks of any sort.
“I was being tutored by Professor Snape if you must know,” she snapped, dumping the books on the ground by his chair before sliding her backside onto the arm.
Ron and Harry exchanged glances.
“Yeah, we heard,” Harry replied. “Queen to E3.”
There was a moment of silence before Hermione decided to address the issue head-on.
“He’s kindly offered to help me prepare for my N.E.W.Ts.” She looked between the two of them.
“Well, you need all the help you can get,” agreed Ron. “I mean, you’re only just scraping by. No wonder he was so keen to help.”
“Some of us actually care about our grades.” She tossed her hair out of her face. “No doubt polishing Quidditch gear is going to hold you in good stead for when you leave this place.”
Ron started rubbing even harder. “Too right. I’ll be the shiniest Keeper in Britain.”
“And it’s good wanking practice,” Harry pointed out.
“Yeah, but I get plenty of that already.”
“Charming,” Hermione huffed.
Ron lifted his chin to look at the board. “Pawn to B6. But honestly ‘Mione, Snape? I wouldn’t spend five minutes with him. Even if he was the best Quidditch player in the world.”
Hermione’s brow creased. “That doesn’t even make sense. And stop talking about bloody Quidditch will you.”
“You can hardly blame us, ‘Mione,” Harry was scanning the board. “It was a bit of a shock. I mean, there must be a million better ways to spend your evening than with that old git.”
“He’s a teacher. He teaches. He knows more about Potions than anyone. Why is it so shocking for me to seek out his tuition?”
“Because he’s a slimy bastard,” Ron piped up. “I wouldn’t trust him to even tell you the right things. It’s not like he’s ever wanted you to do well.”
“He’s not the enemy.” Hermione heard a strange note of pleading in her voice.
“Are you sure about that?” Harry looked at her pointedly. “He’s playing both sides, that’s pretty obvious.”
“But why would he? What would be the point?”
“Best of both worlds. He’s playing them off against each other. He clearly gets off on torturing people—just look at all the detentions he gives out. And yet he looks like he’s making some sort of noble sacrifice so he’s protected by the Order, by Dumbledore.”
Hermione regarded him doubtfully.
“He’s hedging his bets in case things don’t work out. Either way, he’ll come out on top. Snape is all about Snape. Everything he does is to ensure his own survival, no matter what.”
No matter what? To create something as heinous as the Muggle decree enchantment, with the hope of being spared, showed that he was willing to do pretty well anything in the name of self-preservation. The other issue was that they were all simply taking his word on the nature of the enchantment. What guarantee was there that it was accurate and not contrived to further his own interests? And could she even trust him to protect her? Was she, in fact, being asked by the Order to sleep with their enemy?
She stared at the chess board as one piece lopped the head off another. Friday now loomed even more ominously in her mind, like a dark storm gathering on the horizon.
***
She was so bloody fucking annoying. He’d tried. He’d made every effort to be understanding—to empathise with her in what was clearly a less-than-ideal arrangement. But Merlin’s fucking balls if she didn’t make it impossibly difficult for him to feel anything other than intense irritation. She was rude, demanding, self-possessed and she might be clever but in was in a smug and annoyingly self-righteous way that was most unhelpful. It hadn’t escaped him that there were, in fact, certain similarities between them, but that only served to aggravate him more.
The other major concern was that she had him by the balls. And she knew it. The truth was that he did need her. The conditions of the enchantment were so prohibitive that there were very few viable options available, and no others that didn’t involve considerably greater risk. He would also do everything possible to avoid a repeat of the earlier debacle with Albus’ ‘acquaintance’—she’d refused to have unprotected sex and he’d ended up having to do it anyway. And Obliviate her. Fuck.
Snape stood rigidly by his bed. What the fuck was he doing? Preparing an official welcome? He’d had trouble occupying himself since dinner. The three of them, Granger, Weasley and Potter had been talking about him, he could feel it, sensing their less-than-subtle glances in his direction.
What had she told them? If she’d divulged any element of the decree, he would have to insist that Dumbledore take disciplinary action. It could put the Order at risk. It could even put that arrogant little shit, Harry Potter, at risk. But she wasn’t beyond doing something so stupid. She was a Gryffindor after all.
“Hello?”
Hermione pushed the door open a little further.
“Anyone . . . home . . .?”
Oh, it was actually nice. She stepped into the room, releasing the breath she’d been holding. A warm, welcoming fire was crackling and sparking in the grate, framed by a beautiful dark-wood mantle, plush Slytherin-green hearth rug and two elegant armchairs positioned either side. She could almost imagine—
“Would it be too much to expect you to knock?”
“I did knock!” She addressed the tall, angry figure standing in the far doorway. “Perhaps you’re getting hard of hearing in your . . .” She tailed off, realising that it probably wasn’t worth bringing up his age again this early in the proceedings.
He snorted disapprovingly before striding across the room to a lovely walnut cabinet. “Drink?”
How could she refuse such a charming host?
“Why not.”
He didn’t bother to ask what she wanted but emerged moments later from behind the cabinet door with two glasses of red wine.
“Can I move now?” she asked as she took the glass from his hand.
“Yes,” he huffed, gesturing to one of the chairs by the fire. “Perhaps, you would like to take a seat.”
Her earlier vision had well and truly dissolved upon his arrival. She wouldn’t be sitting in front of his fire.
“No, thank you.” She spoke in the clipped tone that he seemed to naturally evoke. “I’d prefer to stand.”
Of course she would. He moved swiftly to the door behind her and closed it before walking around her to stand in front of the fire himself.
Taking a sip, she allowed her eyes to rove around the room. It was comfortable, stylish, not at all what she’d expected. She had imagined a man as grim as he to dwell in some sort of spartan cave surrounded by entrails in jars. There wasn’t a single entrail in sight. But there were books. Hundreds of them, packed into the floor-to-ceiling shelves adorning two entire walls.
Friends. That’s how she’d always considered them. They’d been her friends throughout her life. She wondered if he felt the same. But when her eyes returned to his, he was regarding her like some sort of unwelcome caller that he was desperate to get rid of. Perhaps he had books instead of friends.
“I trust that you have kept the details of the Order’s request and our ‘arrangement’ to yourself.”
“Of course.”
His expression didn’t change. He didn’t believe her. Too bad. She took another sip.
“Shall we get this over and done with, then?” he asked, eyes flicking to the mantle clock as though he had some other pressing engagement to attend.
“I’d like to finish my drink.”
Fan-bloody-tastic. Snape took a large mouthful of his, swilling it around a little in irritation before swallowing. She continued to stand in the middle of the room, ogling his life.
After five agonising minutes of silence, broken only by the occasional awkward gulp, she held the glass out to him. “Thank you, Professor.”
Only just avoiding an eye-roll he took the glass from her fingers, returning both to the cabinet before drawing in a deep breath.
“Are you ready to accompany me to the adjoining room?”
That was slightly better.
“Never moreso.” She delivered a smile that was more sarcastic than genuine but since he never smiled at all, he was in no position to expect more.
She cautiously followed him.
And the bedroom was just . . . gorgeous. Not feminine but certainly luxurious. What did he do in here? For someone who appeared to be all about the practical and functional, this was certainly far more decadent than expected.
And when her eyes returned to him she began to wonder if there were, in fact, two Snapes, or even multiples. She’d certainly seen another side of him in their previous encounter. But her main concern right now was figuring out which was the real Snape—the one toadying to that sick bastard, Voldemort? Or the one standing before her now . . . slowly . . . taking . . . off . . . his . . . coat.
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Doing it for the Order *Complete*

Doing it for the Order Complete