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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Dmeb – I’m really glad you enjoyed the last chapter even if it was a little painful. All I can say about your prognostications and suspicions is that I’m very impressed. I can’t say anything but . . . :)

Oracle – ‘Snape acting out his chapter was too hilarious.’ – I thought you’d enjoy that. ‘"Bring . . . it . . . on."--How often I've said this. Unfortunately no one has.’ – Bahahah! This cracked me up. Yes I only added ‘urinary equivalent’ right at the end but it was definitely the right thing to do :) I’m glad the mix of pain and humour seems about right. I think that’s pretty well the vibe for this one.

ElfHybrid – I’m pleased that you are enjoying. I must also thank you for your recent kind review on ‘The Book That Binds’. I really appreciate it.

Chapter 7 – An Affair aksidentale

Hermione’s head felt like there was a Boggart living in it. And her mouth tasted like the bottom of a bird cage. Either a flock of ferocious owls had hit her multiple times about the head and then crapped in her mouth, or she was extremely hungover. Again.

She tried to roll over but there was something stopping her. Something long and hard. The back of the couch. Why wasn’t she in her bed? Where had this strange blanket come from? And, most disturbingly, why was she completely naked?

Vague memories from the previous day began seeping like sewer water into the aching mess of her brain. And every one added a new surge of revulsion to her, already pretty dismal, self-image. What the fuck had she been thinking? Nothing. That was the problem. She hadn’t been thinking at all. To get that shit-faced in front of her old Potions Professor was beyond ridiculous. And now she remembered sitting on his lap. Oh, fuck! What had happened after that? Is that why she was naked? Had they done something? Where was he? She could see enough of her bed through the open door to know he wasn’t in there. Why would he be?

Hermione groaned, dragging a hand down her face. She kept visualising herself on his lap, her forehead pressed, maybe even rubbing, against the soft material of his white shirt. But that’s where her memory stopped. Every time she tried to push her mind further, she drew a blank. Obviously she’d been just too pissed for anything concrete to coalesce.

She desperately wanted to know what had transpired between them. Had he pushed her off his lap and stormed out? Why then was she naked? Had they fucked? Maybe? It wouldn’t have taken anything for him to persuade her. Maybe she’d started it by ramming her tongue down his throat.

She stared at the cracks in the ceiling, running her hands over the silky material of the foreign blanket. The tips of her fingers brushed against a raised section on the corner and she lifted it up to look at the careful embroidery—SS. SS? Severus Snape? Why would anyone carry around a monogrammed blanket? For when you have a blanket emergency but you just don’t trust others not to steal it?

It took a surprisingly long time to work out that it was, in fact, his transfigured handkerchief. The silken weave had somehow been magically enhanced so that it was reasonably thick but remained soft to the touch. It felt positively luxurious against her naked skin and she somehow considered herself undeserving of it as her hair was a veritable rat’s nest, her breath came straight from a troll’s bottom, and her stomach kept threatening to cover the delicious fabric in what she could only describe as 'essence of rancid ginger.'

Rolling onto her side, she scanned the floor for clues. Nope, no casually flung underclothes there. That ruled out some sort of seductive strip-tease as the source of her nakedness. Although she suspected that she would have only been capable of a horribly dysrhythmic stagger—about as erotic as a lap dance from Filch.

Her eyes settled upon the disordered pile of parchment on the ground. She snorted. That was supposed to be a credible alternative to a properly published book was it? What a fucking joke. They were fucked. She picked up the pages and scanned the top few. It took a few confusing moments for her to work out exactly what she was reading but when it finally came together, her heart and stomach surged together so forcefully that she had to swallow hard to keep from being sick. Gods!

The only way she could explain it was that Snape must have cast the ‘Dictation’ spell while she was on the toilet trying to . . . She quickly pushed her pathetic masturbation attempt from her mind. And when she’d come back and taken him in her full frontal tackle, it had simply continued to transcribe their conversation. The whole lot seemed to have been captured, both his words and hers, all jumbled together in one long paragraph. But she thought she could work out most of it—

“Do you think so?” – Who’d said that? Was it Snape?

“I need to tell you something.” – That must have been her. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to tell her anything. But, then again, she couldn’t think what she might’ve needed to tell him. Nothing obvious sprang to mind.

“What is it?” – Snape again.

“When we were at school, Ron asked everyone who they thought was the biggest cunt out of Voldemort, Umbridge and you. And guess who everyone voted for?”

Oh my fucking God! Why had she told him that?

“No idea.” – She could just imagine him saying it. Dry, unimpressed, absolutely aware of the answer.

“Well, everyone actually voted that you were the biggest cunt. I mean, not the most evil, or anything. Just, you know, general cuntiness—like detentions and taking points off people and stuff.”

“Charming . . . I think I’ll be off.” – Him. Trying to push her off his lap, no doubt.

“No, no, don’t! I have something else to tell you . . . something more important.”

“I find it difficult to believe there could be anything I need to hear more urgently than the previous enthralling tale.” – His sarcasm was palpable, even in the reading.

Hermione cringed, hardly able to bear the thought of continuing. What other insane shit had come out of her mouth?

“I wanted to tell you why this book is so important to me . . . Why I needed to do it.”

Oh shit, she hadn’t told him that had she?

“It’s because of my parents.”

“You’ve already shared that piece of information. You said you were supporting them overseas.” – She could visualise the terse exchange. He clearly still wanted to get away.

“Yes . . . but it’s more than that. I . . . I had to take away their memories. All the ones about me. To protect them during the raids. And then they went away . . . A long, long way away. To Australia. The thing is . . . I got them a house there . . . somewhere nice . . . somewhere I would want to live—you know, if I had a choice. Near the sea . . . They have a view of it . . . It’s pretty . . . so pretty . . . Do you like the sea?”

Hermione could see where her addled brain had started to drift off.

“I believe you were telling me about your parents.” – Snape.

“Um, anyway, they think they own it . . . they think that the house is theirs. It was only ever supposed to be short term . . . you know, temporary. So I paid the rent. I’ve never made a lot of money . . . and so I’ve had to cover the gap by selling stuff . . . their things . . . my things too. But it’s been nearly five years now and there’s nothing left. It’s all gone . . . everything except our house.”

Hermione felt tears welling in her eyes reading her own pathetic story.

“Here. Take this.” – Was he giving her something? The handkerchief?

“And . . . It’s like if I sell our house. It will be the end. They can never return. They’ll have nothing to come back to.”

There were more garbled words. She was obviously crying.

“Don’t they have jobs?” – He’d asked the obvious question.

“Well, over here they were both dentists. Everyone knows dentists charge like wounded bulls—so obviously we had plenty of money . . . But when I took away their memories, the memories of me were all tangled up with everything else . . . They both got into dentistry pretty late and I’d always sit with them when I was young and read their books when they studied or go to the surgery and play . . . I’ve always really loved reading . . . Do you like books?”

“You were explaining about their work?” – Snape prompted her again.

“Oh, yeah, so I couldn’t remove their memories of me without taking away a lot of the other stuff . . . their, you know, professional knowledge. And who wants to go to a dentist with only half the training? Not me . . . So they don’t remember any of it . . . Now my father just does odd jobs and my mother . . . “

More crying.

“She’s suffered a lot from . . . depression. She knows something is missing—someone is missing from her life. I’ve visited . . . secretly. I know she feels it . . . in her heart or her mind or whatever . . . where I used to be . . . Even if she doesn’t know me. And, the thing is, this mess, this whole fucking thing . . . it’s my fault. Her depression . . . Her . . . pain.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

Hermione blinked through her tears, shocked by how supportive Snape sounded.

“I can. It’s all my fault . . . I could have brought them back . . . I could have done it years ago but I was too ashamed . . . I didn’t want them to see me like this . . . I didn’t want them coming back to this . . . to disappointment. I was destined for so much more . . . I was supposed to be the smartest witch of my age . . . But now I’m nothing. I have nothing. I’m just . . . shit.”

More crying. In fact, the rest of the page was filled with it.

Hermione’s head was thumping even more intensely. She wiped her nose on the blanket. It was just a big hanky after all. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she rested both fists against her closed eyes. Well that feral fucking cat was now out of the pathetic little bag she’d kept it in all these years. And of all of the people to choose to share her most devastating secret with, she’d chosen Snape, a man whom, as far as she could tell, only tolerated her for the purposes of belittling her. Way to go ‘Mione. That’s the sort of fucking dumb shit you do when you get pissed.

After a few more minutes of wallowing, Hermione gathered up the parchment sheets and went to toss them back onto the ground when she recognised Snape’s handwriting on the back pages. Pulling them free, she began to read—

Our love was forbidden. And the forest knew it. Each frond and blade conspired with us, guiding us, escorting our fumbling feet to that sacred space, hidden deeply, defiantly within its heart.

Hermione frowned in confusion. Since when was this book about love?

She took my hands in the pearly light. Magical blooms like dew drops lit our way, the sweat on our palms savoured within our intimate touch, which promised, again, to be the briefest of exquisite unions. Our destination was a mere fluke of magic—a confluence of natural charms that could protect us from all that would seek to destroy that audacious spark, burning unsanctioned within our breasts.

In that glow, her skin diaphanous, her smile enigmatic, she was the most alluring of creatures. And if she hadn’t suddenly dragged me down, I might have fallen onto the bed of moss—less from exhaustion than from the almost unfathomable knowledge that she was now mine.

Hermione stared at the handwriting. Was this really fucking Snape?

In kissing we were not only lovers, but matching parts, a perfectly synergetic coupling that spurned a lifetime of loneliness in that moment. We drank each other down in heady gulps, fine wine from a shared glass until neither our slithering hands nor our succulent mouths could assure satiety.

When she opened herself to me, petals glistening with warm desire, I drank even more deeply, exchanging my swelling moans for silky mouthfuls of her honeyed nectar.

Hermione inhaled deeply. Even she knew what that meant.

Clutching fingers caroused in earnest waves through my hair, scouring my neck in needy tendrils that drew me upward, flesh crawling over flesh, slickly aligning until the soulful nimbus of her eyes was reflected within my own. Her warmth grazed over mine, grasping and guiding until our cores were set, softly pulsing in anticipation of a fervent filling, a promise, once painful, now to be fulfilled.

Her shuddering sigh against my face, redolent with relief, told me as much as her wilfully undulating body—of unshackled restraint, of unburdened release. Like a possession, she made her desire known, her cries slicing through the night like the wings of an owl. And only the stars could bear witness—we were, after all, protected—safe in this sanctuary.

Her liquid lust might have drowned me and left me finally content—perfectly at peace. But I sought to match her impassioned incursions with my own, burying myself so completely that I could not expect to return whole. And then we were there, together, exchanging souls in fragile fragments, stretching time around our merging, ardent, exquisite, a release that would stay with us and within us for days. And perhaps, with the will of this magical place, a lifetime.

Hermione let out a long breath. She felt as though she’d just witnessed something she shouldn’t have. Something private. He’d written it for the book so it was fair game, wasn’t it?

Chewing on her bottom lip, she scanned his words again. They might have been quite lovely but they were pretty fucking euphemistic, not a ‘cunt’ in sight. She finally sighed with grudging acceptance of the impact that his exquisite words had had on her. Her narratives now seemed distant, objectified, even sordid in comparison. His were warm, honest, vulnerable. She also noted that his were written in first person, whilst hers were in third person. Why the difference? It was as though he was writing without fear. Or perhaps he was afraid but did it anyway. Had she misjudged him again? Was he really the increasingly sexy asshole she’d assumed these past few days or was he far more vulnerable than that? She couldn’t imagine Snape as a romantic, let alone in love. So who was the woman in his narratives? Was it someone she knew?

Hermione flopped her head listlessly to the side, staring at the cracks in the vinyl couch. It was probably just the hangover but she felt a strange twinge of something. Jealousy? Come on ‘Mione, you clearly wouldn’t mind fucking him but, really, that’s all you could possibly want from a man like that. Nothing more. Nothing like . . .

“Good morning,”

She gasped and turned her head too quickly. He was standing in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him come in at all.

“I took the opportunity to purchase some items for breakfast,” he said, placing a bag on the table.

Hermione winced and closed her eyes. “I don’t need your charity.”

“I need to eat even if you consider an entirely liquid diet sufficient. Your cupboards were empty,” he snapped.

Hermione felt a wave of nausea hit her at the mention of a ‘liquid diet’. She took a few deep breaths, waiting for it to pass. Then she decided to do it. As excruciating as it was, she had to know how things had ended up.

Peeking under the hanky blanket at her nakedness she said. “Did we actually . . . do . . . anything?”

“Yes.”

Oh shit!

“You vomited all over both of us and I had to clean it up.”

Oh fuck!

“Your clothes are in the washing machine—Scourgify wasn’t quite up to the job. You sat in the shower cubicle for sufficient time to remove most of the rest. I didn’t want to return you to your bed in case there was a repeat performance. And I had to return to my chambers smelling worse than a troll’s bowel movement. But you made me promise to return this morning. And so I have.”

Hermione felt like crying. Another sterling performance to add to the rest. She certainly was an opportunist, never missing a chance to make a massive dickhead out of herself.

“I’ll make breakfast,” he said. “But there’s something we need to deal with first.”

She cracked her eyes open and saw that he held in his hand the small tin that he’d arrived with the previous day.

“I couldn’t,” she moaned. “I just couldn’t stomach a biscuit.”

His mouth was set in a grim line.

“These are not biscuits. But perhaps when you see them, you’ll wish they were.”
- 6
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- 8
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An Accidental Affair *Complete*

An Accidental Affair Complete