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The Quickening	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 32428 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Thanks again for your comments. They are a great motivator. Heads up again for this chapter. Same warning applies as for chapter 6. Things do improve I promise.
Chapter 7
“Unhand me woman!” Snape jerked his arm out of Poppy Pomfrey’s firm grasp. She had been trying to take his pulse, but he was so agitated that he wouldn’t stand still.
“Professor, you are clearly unwell.” She wore a well-practised frown that was usually sufficient to make students and staff, alike, do as they were told. “I insist that you sit down right now so that I might examine you.”
“I am not unwell,” he ground out through gritted teeth, brushing her arm away as she tried to grab him again. “It was merely a fit of boredom. Brought on by one of Flitwick’s tedious stories.”
He continued pacing erratically to and fro, his dark form silhouetted against the infirmary window.
“Professor,” Madam Pomfrey said with forced patience. “I have been tending patients for nearly as many years as you’ve been alive, and I consider myself an exceptional judge of people’s physical, mental and emotional state.”
Snape’s eyes roved wildly around the room. He was struggling to maintain focus. He took a few deep breaths before mustering up one of his trademark sneers. “Some might be interested in discussing your professional credentials but I’m a busy man, so if you will stand aside. I will take my leave of you.”
He squared up to her and they looked very much like they were about to engage in a wrestling match.
“Professor. Just look at you,” she implored him. “Your eyes are bloodshot, your skin is deathly pale and your hair is . . . “
“Greasy. Yes I know. I’ve heard it before,” he snapped. “Now stand aside.”
“No.” Madam Pomfrey took a step toward him, suddenly feeling a maternal sadness for the man who had been bullied about his physical appearance since he’d arrived at Hogwart’s as a child, and probably even before. “That’s not what I was about to say.”
Snape felt his breath shortening and knew that he couldn’t maintain control much longer. He needed to get away before he did something he regretted.
“Just . . . you need to let me go,” he almost pleaded, running his hand distractedly through his lank locks.
“I can’t. Not in this state,” she said, gently placing a hand on his arm.
The unwanted affection burned him like a hot iron. Anger welled in his chest, as he was flooded with memories of the unbidden sensations he had been subjected to in the great hall. Just like the humiliation he had endured at the hands of that bastard James Potter and the systematic torture inflicted by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. It was happening all over again. He couldn’t separate one event from another. Everything was twisted together in one giant ball of shame and rage and it was threatening to engulf him.
He turned his arm and caught Madam Pomfrey by the wrist, bending it at an uncomfortable angle. Her eyes filled with pain and fear.
“You will let me go now. And you will never . . . touch . . . me . . . again.”
The dark timbre of his voice set her thin lips trembling, but it was what she saw crackling deep in his eyes that wrenched a strangled gasp from her throat. Coursing through their depths were sinuous blue sparks, leaping and flashing with dark energy. She had only seen it once before, many years ago. But it was unmistakable. The Galvanismus curse. How long had he had it? How far had it progressed? At best, he would feel tense, his nerves constantly on edge, at worst he would be totally possessed by it. And with Snape’s history of trauma, she was surprised that he hadn’t been completely overwhelmed. This man couldn’t be allowed near the students. Nor anyone else for that matter. But the thought came too late as he suddenly threw her hand aside and, with a flourish of black robes, was gone.
***
With a ferocity of purpose, Snape strode down the Hogwarts corridors, scattering terrified students in all directions. He was in full and magnificent flight, robes billowing in his wake like a darkly dangerous incubus. He desperately needed to get to his chambers. To safely isolate himself while he still retained any semblance of control. Nerves jangling and senses painfully acute, he knew he didn’t have long. The girl, he could hardly call her Miss Granger, had created this perfect storm. Acutely threatened, the quickening and turned inward and built within him to extreme proportions. Merlin help anyone who stood in his way. He crashed through another door and stopped dead. Before him, hugging a stack of text books to her chest, was the very witch responsible for this intolerable torture.
If her hands hadn’t been occupied with the spoils of her latest trip to the library, she might have reached her wand in time. As it was, his lightning-quick movements had her lifted and thrown bodily into a shadowy alcove before she had time to even draw breath. Books flying, she landed on her hands and knees while he flicked spells from his wand. Concealment. Silence. Shield Ward. He clearly had no intention of them being seen, heard, nor found. This was going to be bad.
As she drew in shuddering breaths, trying to think of something, anything that might give her a chance of escaping, he approached with slow, deliberate steps. Although the shadows concealed most of his face, she could see a strange blue light sparking in his eyes.
“Professor . . . I,” she rasped, fear strangling her voice. “I really didn’t want to do that to you.”
She wished he would shout and scream and snort and spit with rage. Instead, he remained deathly quiet.
“I . . . wanted to stop. To show you mercy. But . . . I . . . I couldn’t. I needed to show you. To show you what it was like.”
“What it was like?” His deep voice was soft, almost sensuous. It didn’t fit with the intense rigidity of his body.
She choked back a sob. She was genuinely afraid.
“What it was like . . . to be dominated. Controlled. Demeaned. Dehumanised.” The words came out in breathy bursts.
“And of course I would know nothing of that,” he replied in the same silky tone. “Never would I have experienced such things.”
Hermione’s chest ached, she was struggling to breathe.
“I’m so glad you were the one to teach me this incredibly . . . valuable . . . lesson.” His words dripped with sarcasm.
Then he launched at her. “Expelliarmus!”
A bolt from his wand blasted hers to the far corner of the alcove. He had seen her hand creeping into her pocket and now she was totally and utterly defenceless.
He tilted his head to one side as if studying a creature of interest.
“You don’t know the meaning of such words. Yet. But you will.”
Reaching down, he grabbed her roughly by the shirt collar and yanked her to her feet. As his menacing form loomed over her, she retreated in short, stuttering steps, until her back hit the rough bricks of the alcove wall. He stepped in closer and the air was, again, redolent with his earthy scent. The heat radiating from him was in stark contrast to the bone-chilling cold seeping into her back, and when he reached out and placed a thumb against the cleft just above her collar bone, her breath caught in her throat. With a downward thrust of his arm, he tore open her shirt, leaving her torso exposed and her breasts rising and falling under his electric gaze.
“You have always been an insufferable know-it-all.” His hand snaked through the gap in the torn cloth and stroked her abdomen. It twitched, uncontrollably. “And you never knew when to leave enough alone.”
His fingertips glided up the underside of her ribcage to where the flimsy cloth of her cotton bra curved under her breast. Her pulse accelerated in anticipation of his next move. He leant in even closer and she was mesmerised by the unearthly blue flame that continued to dance in his eyes. When his words came, they were as cold as ice.
“Now it’s time for me to teach you a lesson. You were always so desperate to learn. So this should be enjoyable for both of us.”
She looked up at him with a mixture of fear and despair. She could hardly believe that this was her life. It was so far from what she had wanted for herself. From what she had worked so hard for.
“Too late for such recriminations Miss Granger,” his rich voice slithered into her core. “Nothing really works out the way we wish. So we must take what we can. When we can.”
She trembled as his fingers continued their upward journey, sliding over the cotton in a light caress that was both stimulating and nauseating. He traced a lazy circle with one finger around her nipple, closer and closer but never quite touching it. He would be able to feel her tremulous heartbeat through his fingertip, the air being squeezed in and out of her lungs. To have him so perilously close to her life force was terrifying, as if, with one small tap, he could snuff her out like a candle. The thought of how vulnerable she was sent her system into over-drive and her lips parted as she sought solace in deep lungfuls of life-affirming air.
The whole time his eyes hadn’t left hers but now, with her breasts heaving erratically, he lowered his head. He trailed his nose down the side of her neck, over the galloping pulse at her throat and down toward his hand that was resting with a thumb and forefinger on either side of her nipple. He gently squeezed the flesh to protract the bud before closing his warm mouth over it. Her breath grew raspy as he sucked on the cotton clad nub, his moist tongue laving over it, coaxing it into a hard peak. She bit her lip hard, determined that, despite the quaking of her traitorous body, she would offer no sound in response to what he was doing to her.
But her resolve was quickly broken as he grabbed the neckline of her bra with both hands and tore it through the middle, throwing the tattered remains aside to reveal her pert, shapely breasts. Any hope she may have been harbouring that he would be gentle with her was dispelled in that moment.
His hands slid under her skirt, skating up the side of each leg before hooking onto her knickers. In one movement he tore them off, the elastic cutting painfully into her skin before giving way.
“Did it turn you on to make me come?” he whispered in her ear. “To pump my cock until I ejaculated?”
His words made her shiver as she remembered just how aroused she had been. Despite her intense shame, she could feel the ache in her core.
“If your mouth won’t give me the answers, then I shall seek them elsewhere.”
His hand reached under her skirt and he delved two fingers between her nether lips, sliding them along the groove directly into her opening. She stiffened and cried out with the speed and depth of his entry. He pumped them rhythmically in and out, his face only millimetres from hers, his hot breath shooting into her open mouth with each penetration. Then he brought his fingers, slick and sticky with her juices up to his mouth which was so close to hers that she could almost taste her own arousal, as its muskiness filled her nose. Inserting both fingers between his thin lips, he sucked on them, his eyes fluttering closed as if shutting down his other senses to focus all his attention on her taste.
“There are two episodes of arousal here. One sweet and one sour. One recent and one past. You are a horny little slut aren’t you?” He trailed his sticky fingers down her cheek. “You pretend to be so righteous. Holier than thou. An innocent little swat with a mind only for the books. And yet you make a potion. Probably the most original, brilliant, potion in the last hundred years. With astounding potential. And what do you do with it? You give me a fucking blow job! You suck me off. What does that say about you?”
Hermione didn’t answer. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. It was all true.
“I think you’ve wanted me for a long time. Craved me. Craved what I could do to you. Well now you’re going to find out.”
He turned her around and pushed her roughly against the wall, bricks grazing against her bare breasts.
“You’re going to have to make a lot more room for me than that,” he said, kicking her feet wide apart with the toe of his boot.
Somehow she knew he wasn’t bragging. Moments later she felt something warm and smooth prodding insistently at her opening then, without warning, he slammed up into her. She screamed with the shock and size of him. He was stretching her to breaking point, her entrance stinging with the sheer girth of his member. He pulled out and then drove into her again, punching into her cervix and forcing her up onto her toes. She cried out again, her nipples grinding against the wall.
He leaned back as he drew his cock out again, admiring its rock-hard firmness and the way it shone like polished alabaster. He rammed it home again, revelling in the tight heat of her cunt. He had fucked a lot of people, men and women, willing and unwilling, but he couldn’t remember one that felt so satisfying. The quickening was subsiding a little with each thrust. He still felt powerless to oppose it, but it was no longer crushing him with the same intensity.
“It’s bigger than you imagined isn’t it?” he breathed in her ear.
She closed her eyes, trying to block him out.
“I can feel the walls of your pussy squeezing,” he groaned as he tried to drag himself out and found resistance, she was so tight. “I don’t think your cunt has had as much action as you pretended. At least not with a cock of any substance.”
He was no longer slamming into her but filling her in long fluid strokes. Her breathing was ragged as she braced her hands against the wall.
“Now I’d like to feel you clamp me inside your walls. I want to feel you as tight as you can get. And then I want to feel your body milking me, sucking at my seed, greedily drawing it into you.”
Hermione shook her head. The insinuation that she wanted anything but to be on the other side of the planet from him was so infuriating that her fear subsided for just a moment.
He chuckled darkly in her ear. “We’ll see who gets their way.”
He reached around to her breast and started to roll the nipple between his dextrous fingers, then slipped his other hand down and under her skirt. He quickly found the nub of her clitoris and began rubbing it in time with his deep thrusts. Tilting his pelvis, he created a devilish angle that rubbed his cock down the front wall of her vagina, every ridge and bump hitting her G spot.
Hermione gasped, throwing her head back.
“That’s right. Grab onto my cock like you don’t want to let it go.” His last words were grunted out as he could feel the tension growing in his balls. Her slick heat, tightening with each stroke was threatening to send him over the edge. But he couldn’t. He had other plans.
“Now come for me you little slut,” he ground out.
Sweat was trickling down his face as he increased the speed and ferocity of his movements. He pinched her nipples while slamming his cock into her as far as it would go. His balls slapped against her with each thrust.
An unearthly wail came from deep within Hermione’s throat as she could feel herself giving in to his wishes. Her legs started to quake and the tension surged inside her pussy, building to an unbearable crescendo before her walls started pulsing and shuddering. Her entire body was convulsing as gushes of warm juice spurted all over his pistoning cock. She screamed as she rode out her orgasm, his fingers still working on her nipples and clitoris to sustain the fluttering contractions around him.
He was so close to coming himself but at the last moment he pulled out, dragged her away from the wall and pushed her to her knees. Grabbing her roughly by the hair, he tilted her head back, causing her mouth to fall open in pain.
“And this is for what you did to me, you bitch.”
He grasped his sticky cock in his fist and pumped it into her face. After only a couple of jerks, he ejaculated, streams of warm come shot across her face, into her hair and eyes. He directed it into her open mouth, watching it hit the back of her throat, causing her to swallow. He kept milking his pulsating member until the last sticky drops coated her lips. It wasn’t only satisfying to defile something so beautiful. Knowing the intelligence behind that come-slicked brow made it even more so.
He released her hair with a careless flick of his hand, admiring his handiwork. She didn’t move. Her eyes were closed.
There was a long silence and suddenly he blinked, frowning. He looked about. Not quite sure of his surroundings. What had happened? He was shocked to see someone, dishevelled and covered in . . . Oh Gods! What had he done?
- 6
- 7
- 8
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The Quickening