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At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 80085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
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:
Remarkable: ‘I've been sitting here all evening trying to think of something clever to say, and I tell ya, it's just not happening’ – hey, story of my life ;P ‘He is clearly getting something out of it. And really, it could be just about anything.’ – yes, whatever it is, he’s probably not going to fess up easily. I love all your probing questions . . . possibly a bit more revealed in this chapter but still might not get the full story for a little while at least J ‘god only knows where this merry-go-round is going to end up’ – you are right there! ‘I love happy endings. *Hint* LOL Just kidding, sort of’ – well my track record of HEAs is pretty intact at the moment . . . though we could always try something different this time . . . Just kidding, sort of ;) xx
Kvarta: ‘I like smutty, I have nothing against smutty’ – hahah, you sound pretty sure of that :P ‘She's definitely overthinking it’ – totally. ‘he keeps her on the edge and waiting for her to be desperate enough’ – yep, Slytherin through and through. ‘I just have problem releasing how is it possible from his position’ – in my head it is possible but it does require a bit of dexterity, and maybe a little bit of magic ;) ‘I hope next time I'll be more...me.’ – more than happy to take you however you are. Hope you get that rest xxoo
OO: ‘you get a thousand bonus points for calling this chapter Thighmaster’ – I can’t take credit unfortunately, Hislittlewitch on AO3 gave it to me but I forgot to put the acknowledgement on all sites. I need to fix that! ‘wonderfully dirty and poignant on me’ – I love a little poignant dirtiness :P ‘he's bringing her back into the very emotions that have brought her the most confusion and pain. He's forcing her to deal with them.’ – very nice bit of insight. ‘It's more like she's been trying to get into trouble’ – as you suggest, whether consciously or subconsciously. ‘Or is there sexual therapy that actually works like this? If there is, that a profession I'd be interested in pursuing’ – As a patient or a therapist? ;) ‘Oh, honey, you don't have to transfigure them first’ – this cracked me up! ‘And this is yet another example of her need for self destruction’ – she certainly hasn’t fully embraced the submissive mindset . . . and somehow I wonder if she ever will. ‘what scab will he pick off and what will he reveal about himself in the process’ – very good question . . . a bit more revealed in this chappie xx

Chapter 6 – Brandmaster
“Shit.”
Hermione grimaced at her grimacing reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a complete nightmare. And without her wand it was proving even more ridiculously unruly. She tugged a brush through the knotted ends which instantly frizzed. If only she could leave the castle to buy a potion, or even some Muggle product to help. It was getting to the point that she may even need to cave in and ask another student to purchase something for her.
And her refractory mop was only the start of it. Everything was taking far longer than it used to. All of the mundane tasks that she would previously attend to with a flick of her wand were now filling her days with time-consuming tedium and, as a result, she was always running late.
The steady rumble of feet on the stone flags outside indicated that the procession to classes had begun. She wasn’t even dressed.
Huffing irritably, she began to apply foundation. Of course a Glamour would have been far easier and more effective. As it was, the dark hollows under her eyes were barely masked, making her appear almost as deranged and zombie-like as she felt.
Sleep had eluded her once again. After the events of the previous evening, her mind had refused to stop churning through endless reels of memories and scenarios and interpretations. It was all so confusing. Actually, that didn’t even come close to describing it. It was a total mind fuck. And she was becoming increasingly convinced that much of Snape’s intention was simply that . . . to fuck her up, to leave her confused and bewildered and questioning everything . . . including her sanity.
But why? Just because he could?
He’d licked her—used his tongue to pleasure her. Why would he go to such lengths if he despised her as much as he pretended? Or was she, herself, being used as some form of punishment—was he seeking to achieve some bizarre redemption of his own? It seemed unlikely but, then again, with Snape anything was possible.
The other option was that he actually did like her, that he was attracted to her and this was simply his perverse way of making sexual advances toward her.
And that annoyed her. A lot. Why not be a man about it and own his feelings? Why try to pretend that it was all about her . . . that this was her doing entirely . . . that she’d brought it upon herself?
And if he did like her why was he such a fucking bastard about it? Like a school boy who couldn’t express himself and so resorted to punching the object of his affections instead.
But then there was the catharsis. The release. If he was simply attracted to her, why was he forcing her to confront so much, to endure such emotional turmoil? He was pulling and pushing her so forcefully that she could feel her inner fabric breaking. But could it ever be restored in a healthy way? After everything that had happened, she doubted it was even possible for her to be knitted together into anything resembling a whole.
His methods might be forcing her to discard some unhelpful coping strategies but they were called coping strategies for a reason. Without them there was a failure to cope, a hopelessness and devastation which was deeply traumatising in its own right. She wondered then if his intention was to heal or, rather, to create more wounds. Did he really believe that trauma could be eliminated with trauma? And if he happened to be the paragon of success in that regard then God help her . . . God help them both.
Knock, knock.
Hermione’s eyes jagged up to the door reflected in her mirror. She had seen barely anyone, taking meals early or late to avoid running into people between classes. She didn’t even feel like talking now, especially considering her current level of agitation, but she knew she was being obviously evasive. It would have been noticed.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Ginny . . . I thought you must have left already.”
“No, I haven’t,” Hermione muttered under her breath as she strode over to the door, unlocked and opened it.
“Are you sick?” Ginny’s mouth dropped open.
“No . . . why?”
“You just . . . you don’t look well. And you’re not dressed . . . don’t you have classes this morning?”
“Yes I’m running a bit late, that’s all,” Hermione snapped, closing the door and turning away.
“Why do you have an ‘S’ on your bottom?”
What the fuck?
Hermione returned to her desk and lifted her nightie, turning to look at her bottom in the mirror. The curve of one cheek peeked out from under the elastic of her knickers, and emblazoned on the pale flesh was a small S-shaped bruise. Quickly yanking her nightie back down, she attempted to dismiss it with a hand wave.
“I fell over on my run yesterday, I must have landed on a rock or branch or something that had a pattern a bit like an S.”
“A lot like an S,” Ginny remarked.
Hermione turned to her cupboard and started pulling clothes out, hoping that Ginny hadn’t noticed her flaming cheeks. “How’s everything going for you, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s fine. You know, usual school stuff,” Ginny responded evasively. “Uh . . . you realise you missed the Gryffindor house meeting again?”
“Yes, I was busy.”
Ginny was quiet for a moment.
“People are worried about you, ‘Mione. I’m worried about you.”
“I thought people were worried about themselves,” Hermione replied, more nastily than she’d intended.
“No one cares about that anymore.” Ginny approached her. “It was just the initial shock. You’ve earned heaps of points back. They just want to see you again—the younger ones especially. They really look up to you.”
Hermione nearly burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.
“Look. We’re having a few drinks tonight in the common room . . . Seamus has managed to get hold of a bottle. Please come.”
“Maybe. I’ll see what else I have on,” Hermione responded non-committally.
“I also wanted to show you my dress,” Ginny said.
“What dress?”
“For the ball next weekend. Remember?”
Hermione’s heart sank, it was the last thing she wanted to think about.
“You’re the Head Girl. You get to start the snowball waltz. Have you thought about who you are going to pick yet?”
“Can I pick you?” Hermione finally lifted her head and smiled wearily at her friend.
“I guess so.” Ginny grinned back. “If you want to start a few more rumours.”
“What’s a few more to add to the mill?” Hermione sighed.
Ginny quickly closed the gap, wrapping Hermione in a tight hug. “Please come tonight, ‘Mione. It’ll be fun. We’re all missing you.”
Hermione felt tears prickling her eyes. She quickly blinked them away.
“I’ll try,” she promised. “Now let me get dressed or I’ll be up for another detention.”
Hermione kept her face carefully averted as she snatched up her skirt and began to dress.
“Fine. See you later then?” Ginny backed towards the door and, receiving no further response, sighed softly before leaving.
Instantly striding back to the mirror, Hermione pulled her knickers down. Her entire backside was covered with S-shaped bruises, many overlapping in frenzied piles, like the work of a mad brander. Fucking hell!
Her sadness instantly dissipated, and her tiredness, agitation and indignation melted into a glowing ball of red-hot fury. How fucking dare he!
Throwing on her clothes in record time, she stormed out of her room and headed toward his office. She’d like to see him try to explain this.
***
Rapping loudly on the door, she waited only a millisecond after his acknowledgement to bluster in.
He managed to ignore her twitching agitation, finishing off another two lines of script before looking up and delicately placing the quill into its holder.
“To what do I owe this charming intrusion?”
Clearly he’d picked up on her mood, but had still chosen to let her fume.
“I come, Headmaster, requesting your honesty,” Hermione responded with as much control and dignity as she could muster.
“I did not claim that you could trust me.”
Hermione was stumped for a moment. She couldn’t quite believe that this was his defence. Still, she persisted with the line of argument she’d cobbled together in her seething mind on her way there.
“This is not about trust. It is about truthfulness and what you claim to be your intention. I think it rather disingenuous of you to pretend.”
“Pretend?”
“That you don’t like me.”
He frowned, looking disparagingly down his nose.
“Is it a requirement?”
Her brow rumpled in confusion. “A requirement for what?”
“Do you consider ‘liking you’ a requirement for the current process?”
“No, of course not. However, I feel that you have been conducting the ‘current process’ under the guise of pure correction and atonement and I really don’t believe it to be the case. Now, I’m asking you again, Professor, are you doing all this because you are, in fact, attracted to me?”
He stared at her. “I hardly consider that to be any of your business.”
She was taken aback again. Then she huffed and actually stomped her foot a fraction.
“I happen to disagree. The motivation for your actions is very much dependent upon the answer, and it would further explain much of what has occurred to date.”
“And I would consider an ‘explanation’ beyond what you deserve,” he sneered.
Hermione could feel her hackles rising further.
“Then I suppose you would not indulge me sufficiently to explain . . . this.”
She pulled up her skirt and yanked down the back of her knickers to expose one cheek, mottled with S-shaped bruises.
He gave an exaggerated squint, his brows pulling together.
“I’m afraid my eyesight isn’t what it once was. You will have to come closer.”
Jaw firming in irritation, Hermione backed up a few paces.
“Closer.” He pursed his lips around the word, entirely unperturbed.
Hermione stormed all the way over to him, turned and dropped her knickers again.
She glared at him but his eyes were on her buttocks.
“Ahhh. It appears that my ring must have . . . slipped.”
“You don’t wear a—”
Hermione stopped when he held up his right hand to reveal a gold ring with an S-shaped insignia. She’d never seen it before. She was positive it hadn’t been there previously. She’d always paid a lot of attention to his hands . . . particularly lately.
“Despite what you would claim. I believe this to be entirely deliberate,” she stated hotly. “You intended it.”
“Enlighten me,” he drawled, using the thumbnail of the same hand to slowly slide the ring around, demonstrating its propensity for ‘slipping’.
“This was a clear attempt to mark me . . . with your initial . . . S.”
He leaned back casually in his chair. “And why would I be compelled to do such a thing?”
“Because you are obsessed with ownership. You talk about women as though they are possessions to own, trophies to earn, to fight for. You have an absolutely out-dated sense of appropriate relational dynamics between the sexes and you have clearly not heard of women’s rights or even the concept of gender equality.”
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“You act like women are responsible for the attention they receive—as though they seek it just by being female. You absolve males from any responsibility—as though they have no agency whatsoever. Do you think so little of your own gender?”
His mouth quirked up slightly. He was clearly amused and it made her even more furious.
“And you have the audacity to comment upon my clothing when your own attire is firmly rooted in the previous century. I happen to feel very comfortable with my clothing choice, comfortable enough not to have to wear the same garments every single day, and will continue to wear cardigans even if they are not appealing to the male gaze . . . which may I add is another point of insult . . .”
He settled back in his seat as though enjoying watching her get so worked up. She felt her throat starting to close in indignation.
“I can lend you a few books on feminist principles if you like. Perhaps then you might understand that women have a more important role to play in the world than to simply satisfy the male need for some pretty, brainless object to wank over.”
He snorted, before allowing his hand to flop insouciantly down onto the arm of the chair. “Whilst your fascinating feminist declaration is endearingly ardent,” he responded, his tone rich with sarcasm and condescension. “You have still failed to explain why I would wish to place my mark upon you . . . of all people.”
Of all people?
Was she really that unworthy? The bottom of the barrel?
Hermione clenched her fists as she responded in a low growl,
“Because you have no one.”
The amusement seeped from his eyes.
“No one would want you.”
She wanted him to be angry. Furious. Heart thundering, she waited for the explosion. But it didn’t come. Instead, what transpired was somehow much worse.
Eyes slipping down to the desk, he inhaled deeply.
In a voice that was as devoid of emotion as humanly possible, he spoke,
“You are to leave now, Miss Granger.”
- 5
- 6
- 7
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At the Headmaster’s Discretion *Complete*

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete