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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: So I’m back after a lovely holiday in the sun. I missed you all but returned to the computer post haste to keep the chapters coming. Thank you again for those who have taken the time to leave feedback, you don’t know how important it is to keep things ticking along. DSx
Kvarta – ‘but somehow I always see her as more mature than her real age ;)’ – actually so do I, and that’s why I write her as being bright and quite insightful but still emotionally immature in some ways. ‘he wouldn't set the trap so that he couldn't wiggle out of it.’ – ahhh, I like the way you’re thinking J. ‘who is acting like teenager now?’ – and that’s the thing, this guy is only 36-7 years old. He’s may have a severe façade but he’s essentially a young person. ‘I have message for her - she's doing it the wrong way *evil, lusty, grin*’ – hahaha, I think she could do with some tips! Sounds like your writing is going well if you are chapters ahead of your beta. Yes, my holiday was very relaxing thanks. But I did miss writing and felt relieved when I could finally get back to it. I hope your muse enjoyed her time off from me ;)
Faerieduster – I know, it was a bit mean to end it there but I wanted to leave a little food for thought while I was away :) And thank you for the holiday wishes – it was just what I needed. DSx
OO – ‘Malleable body tissue. I think I need that in real life’ – hahaha, don’t we all! I could do with a bit of histomegamutatus. ‘I'll email you my nefarious ideas about appearance fuckery’ – I’m looking forward to it!
Fox – ‘Ohh I can't believe you actually left it there! And went on holiday?!’ – hey, it was only so you had time to read my other stories ;) ‘A little more hopeful, that everything will be sexual soon :-)’ – well there’s sexual and then there’s sexual. ‘It just shows, how little we know of others and, really, we see, only what we want to see.’ – very true, I think both are still suffering from that delusion.
SL – ‘It allows lots of rooms to develop’ – yes, I’ve found that this plotline has given me lots to consider. It was probably a good thing that I went on holiday without my computer as I had an opportunity to chew over lots of ideas before writing anything which hasn’t happened before.
Courtney – thanks for checking up on me. And I’m glad you left a comment. You might have missed my A/N in the last couple of chapters. I went on holiday and couldn’t take my computer so I got a few quick chapters out before I left. But now I’m back. Normal service resumes – hopefully. :)

Chapter 7 – Peak Working Order

Hermione swallowed with difficulty. Was she imagining it? That cloying sweetness in the back of her throat?
“What was in that wine?” she suddenly demanded, her eyes narrowing as she reflexively slid her foot backwards.
He rolled his eyes. Her wand stance didn’t concern him.
“That would be wine,” he responded drily, continuing to unbutton his coat.
Something wasn’t right. Had she downed it too quickly? Had it gone straight to her head?
Time seemed to stretch, each moment elongating like pulled toffee, sticky and sluggish, warping her senses. Small elements became magnified, bulging toward her until they appeared disproportionately large. Like his hands. His long fingers slid past one another as each button was released—the ripple so silky smooth that she had the impression of a deft sleight of hand. With each pass she felt that she was missing something. She stared. If she looked closely enough she would see it—she’d catch the deception.
“What is it now?” he huffed, fingers hovering over the final button.
There was nothing. She’d missed it—if it was ever there. But the doubt continued to needle her—a sense that everything wasn’t as it appeared. Finally, she gave a small dismissive shake of her head.
His frown deepened until it was practically slicing his forehead in two before he flicked the final button undone and removed his coat.
Then his fingers started on his shirt.
“I . . . I’m not sure we’ve discussed the appropriate . . . dress code for this . . . occasion.”
Hermione half turned away from him. She didn’t want to watch him undress.
His voice was tight. “We will be in a bed. Under covers. A full complement of clothing is not conducive to achieving a satisfactory . . . outcome.”
He was right. But she still didn’t want to watch him undress. And she certainly didn’t want him to watch her.
“I’ll get in first,” she announced.
The thought of him lying naked in bed waiting for her was just too much. The opposite scenario was only marginally better but it was . . . better.
“Would you mind turning around?”
His arms dropped to his sides.
“Please?”
He glared but he turned.
Quickly, Hermione undressed, leaving her clothes in a neat pile on a chair nearby. She threw glances at him every now and again, just to make sure.
“I’m not watching,” he muttered.
What was that supposed to mean? Could he see her?
She swept her gaze around the room, looking for any reflective surfaces that might have given her away. After a few passes, she came to the conclusion that he was just being an annoying bastard. But the incident with the wine had thrown her. She wasn’t sure if she didn’t trust him because of it, or if the distrust she already harboured had simply found something new to latch onto. Either way, she didn’t appreciate him making her feel even more uneasy.
“I’m done.”
She dove between the sheets of his expansive bed and rolled over to face the wall.
Silence. She was met by a stiff, prickling silence. Was he undressing? He was so very quiet. There was nothing, not even the whisper of falling cloth. It took every ounce of her self-control not to peek back over her shoulder—although she wasn’t confident that he’d afforded her the same privacy.
Clenching her jaw, she cinched the sheets even tighter around her neck. Despite her death grip, she could feel their softness between her fingers. They were almost satiny. What man slept on sheets like these? Had he put them on especially? She didn’t know if the notion made her feel better or worse. Then the temptation to slither her bare legs around between them, as though slipping through luxuriously cool water, almost overwhelmed her. It was the wine. It was making her feel particularly . . . sensuous.
“Move over,” he demanded gruffly.
She instantly lunged forward until she was wedged tightly under the tucked edge. Feeling movement behind her, she held her breath. He was in.
Now what?
“Did you learn the incantation?”
Dragging her wand up from under the sheets she rolled awkwardly on the spot until she was facing him. Unlike her position in the bed, a baby turtle emerging head-first from a particularly constrictive shell, he was propped casually on one elbow, the bedding dipping over his solar plexus.
He was muscular. Surprisingly so. Not bulky but lean—pale blue veins cresting the surfaces on his arms making the muscles seem even more prominent. A smattering of fine hair extended from his collar bones down, forming darker ridges around the contours of his chest. Somehow, it made her feel even more anxious. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. ‘Nothing’ was probably the answer. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about this moment at all, relegating it to a small black box in her mind with a ‘do not investigate until you are absolutely bloody ready’ sticker on it. Unfortunately, she’d never reached that point.
“Of course,” she sniffed. She couldn’t let him see how nervous she was.
He stared at her intently before raising a ‘well, get on with it’ eyebrow.
She had a few possible transformations in mind but the way she was feeling right now, there was only one that would give her what she needed. Protection.
Lifting the wand, she held the tip directly between her eyes before drawing it down the ridge of her nose.
“Histomalleus,” she stated firmly and instantly felt the change. Her successful casting was also verified by his immediate and emphatic response.
“What the bloody hell is that?”
“What does it look like?” Her voice sounded deeper and more nasally. A little like—
“Can’t you do something else?” he snapped irritably.
She raised a hand and felt along the bold ridge of her nose, tracing her fingers down to the curve at the tip.
“Why? Do you have a problem with big noses?”
She looked at him pointedly and he glared back, his cheeks flushing.
With a twist of his lips, he brought his arm out from under the covers and waved his hand, summoning a bottle from somewhere across the room before tossing it at her.
“What’s this?”
“A lubrication potion.”
She never took potions if she could avoid it. Even muggle medication she’d always kept to a minimum. And she still hadn’t managed to shake her unease about the wine.
“I don’t expect it will be required. I managed last time.”
“Perhaps you’ll recall that you had an issue with me touching you last time?” he replied tersely.
She hadn’t forgotten. She still had an issue. But she wouldn’t be taking the potion.
“Just . . . just do whatever’s required to ensure that I don’t need to take it.”
He scowled, less than impressed. But she’d given him as much permission as she was prepared to give.
“Do you want me to do it from behind again or . . .?”
His lips clamped together. The words were obviously difficult. And she did feel for him. It was more than evident that he was completely uncomfortable with the situation. But he had a different agenda than she did—an entirely different motivation. They couldn’t really be compared.
The truth was that she didn’t want either option—she’d prefer him not to do her from any direction. But she recalled that he’d managed to stimulate her clitoris from behind the previous time. If he was on top of her, his hands wouldn’t be able to get down there. It was a safer option.
“You can go . . . on top . . . of . . . me . . . with me . . . on my back . . . with you . . .”
“Fine,” he interrupted abruptly.
She could see that his black eyes kept returning to her oversized nose. He was clearly disconcerted by it. Well too bloody bad! If she was forced to transform herself for him, he would just have to put up with it.
“Well?” she looked at him expectantly.
“Can you possibly move a fraction closer?” he muttered.
Sighing, she reached behind herself, dropping the wand to the ground beside the bed before slithering towards him, keeping the sheets up around her throat.
She looked petrified—her eyes like saucers, so blatantly unwilling. And that fucking nose—it was utterly ridiculous. He could barely look at her.
He was suddenly in two minds about whether to even go through with it, paralysed by indecision. But then her hand closed upon his, locking two of his fingers in her small grasp before drawing him toward her, placing his fingers against her breast. She was so soft and warm. And responsive—her flesh immediately prickling under his touch.
He sighed heavily through his nose. Her brown eyes were still distrustful but there was a fierce determination burning within them. She was forcing herself. But so was he. He had only a few hours to satisfy the enchantment—a choice, literally, between life and death. And, despite the accusation that he saw in her, the disgust, the fear, he would choose life.
His hand closed around her breast and her eyes shuttered a fraction. It was obvious that she had virtually no prior sexual experience. He could use his fingers on her again. No doubt she would respond. But he’d have to look at her face throughout and the nose was really fucking off-putting. He also suspected that she would be averse to the intimacy of being watched.
So he made a decision. She’d invited him to ‘do whatever is required’ after all.
Sliding forwards, he lifted the bedding and slithered down until his mouth was level with the hand that was still on her breast. Despite the fact that her chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath his grasp, he managed to protract the nipple sufficiently to catch it with the tip of his tongue, once, twice, before lapping forward, swirling gently around the stiffening peak.
“Ohhh!” She gave a high pitched moan.
Then he opened his mouth and engulfed her entire areola, sucking with his lips and tongue as he trailed a hand down her abdomen.
Her breath stuttered out as her muscles twitched and shuddered beneath his palm. Skimming down, he burrowed his fingers into her pubic hair and with some gentle pressure, encouraged her to part her legs sufficiently for him to slip into her moist folds. As he started to lightly tickle her clitoris, her hips jolted and he felt her hand graze the back of his head. Then it was gone. She was clearly trying not to touch him. And finding it difficult.
For some reason this knowledge proved satisfying and so he tugged a little more forcefully at her nipple whilst massaging her clitoris. Then she was back, fingers curling into his hair as a groan emerged from deep within her chest.
Sliding one finger back he dipped into her opening, finding it already generously coated with her own lubrication. Perhaps she didn’t require the potion after all. Sliding the finger deeper into her pussy, he brought his thumb up to roll around and over the head of her clitoris, using the same motion on her nipple with his tongue.
“Gods!” She released a muffled grunt.
She was dimly aware of her knuckles hurting. She must have bitten them. But that sensation paled into insignificance compared with what was happening between her legs. And what his mouth was doing to her breasts. He’d moved onto the other one and she was literally aching. The idea of aching without pain wasn’t entirely foreign, she’d felt enough strong emotions in her life but this was purely physical and it was . . . excruciating.
She masturbated relatively infrequently. Usually when she was bored and had nothing to think about—which wasn’t often. But she rarely paid her breasts any attention in the process, focusing entirely on her clitoris. Now she had suddenly discovered a superhighway of sensation between her nipples and the depths of her core that made it feel like a white-hot fuse was burning through her.
And then he was prodding there, at that spot inside her, as he pinged it from afar via her nipples. He was playing her. That’s what it felt like. How could he know more about her body than she did? It was hers after all. She should know it better than anyone. Suddenly she felt quite irresponsible, overwhelmed by her own naiveté.
And she also felt like she wanted to come.
“Don’t. Stop,” she moaned.
Don’t stop?
“Just stop,” she blurted.
He halted, finger still inside her.
“I . . . I must be ready by now. Can you just . . . do it?”
Releasing her breast from his mouth and sliding his finger out of her pussy, he emerged from beneath the blankets. His hair was mussed up and his face flushed, lips rouged and full, making him look younger somehow.
He didn’t speak or even particularly look at her but then she felt him spread her legs with one hand, using the other elbow to prop himself over her. Moments later, he was at her entrance and this time he slipped in with such ease she realised she must be absolutely sopping. He still stretched her as he pushed but the sting at her strained margins was less than previous and he somehow seemed to be aware of her limits, stopping several times before rocking back into her.
By the time he was fully inside, she felt extremely full but not in an uncomfortable way. In fact, it was in a way that made her finally understand what the big deal was all about. Until then, she’d considered sex to be totally over-rated. Her friends had slept with people and she’d listened with derision as they’d recounted the details, feeling quite proud that she was above all that. A few sweaty minutes of flailing about for a few seconds of undignified convulsing didn’t seem quite worth it.
But this was different. It felt . . . powerful—impacting her far more deeply than she’d expected, even extending beyond the physical. It wasn’t something she wanted to feel with this man, her Professor, her teacher. But she figured it wasn’t personal. It was just an understanding. A realisation that had suddenly struck her. Or perhaps it wasn’t an understanding at all—simply the effects of the wine going to her head.
And what, she wondered, was he feeling? Was it the same for him? He certainly couldn’t feel as she did each time he plunged into her—he was the ‘filler’ not the ‘fillee’ after all. Perhaps it felt like being sucked. As her nipples had. The sensation of something pulling insistently at his cock, desperately trying to draw forth from him.
Then she wondered why she was wondering. Maybe she was really trying to work out how close he was to finishing, as things were becoming decidedly . . . difficult.
Despite the fact that he was nowhere near her clitoris, the tension was building again. Just the pure sensation of him thrusting into her, stretching her anew on each incursion had her suddenly holding her breath. It wasn’t something she could think her way past—not in the way she’d hoped. She’d been desperate to remain principled throughout, to cling onto that fine thread of decency—out of respect for those who didn’t have a choice.
“Can you . . .” She looked up to see that her hands were on his shoulders. When had she done that? She quickly dropped them. “Can you possibly be a little less . . . stimulating?”
Less stimulating? That must be a fucking first for the bedroom. He slowed down. But she was soon shaking her head.
“Less . . .” she gasped.
He stopped mid-thrust. What was she expecting? A spontaneous ejaculation?
Gradually her breathing normalised before she gave a small nod. He started again but it wasn’t long before her fingers were clawing at the bedding.
“Could you be less . . . acute?”
Acute? What the fuck was she talking about? She was the most acute person he’d ever encountered. Acutely infuriating. Acutely ill-mannered.
“I assume you’re referring to the angle?” he snapped.
“Yes . . . it just. It seems to be hitting me on the . . .” She groaned as he thrust into her again, squeezing her thighs tightly around him.
Sighing, he suddenly leaned back, not far enough to pull out of her but enough to lift one of her legs and push it over so that she was rolled onto her side, her legs pressed together with him still inside her. Placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip, he pushed her into the mattress as he resumed.
“That’s actually not particularly comfortable.” Her muffled voice drifted up from where her face was buried in the pillow.
“That’s the intention,” he replied. “You need a distraction.”
It was certainly distracting, having to breathe between plunges. But the new angle wasn’t much better.
“Why is it taking so long?”
“Because you keep telling me to stop,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
She gripped the pillow tightly, hoping that it would help her to cling on. But with his weight pressed against her hip, forcing her legs closed, his cock was clamped so tightly inside her that she could feel everything—every contour, every ridge, and to make matters worse her clitoris was being mercilessly jostled inside the whole affair such that the discomfort was no longer a distraction.
“It’s not working,” she whimpered.
Dipping his chin, he focused. The sight of her entire body being jolted with each thrust, his hands forcing her back to meet him was surprisingly satisfying. Combined with the impossible tightness and slippery heat around his cock, it finally became enough . . . he was there.
“Uhhh,” he grunted as his cock exploded.
“Stop!” she cried out.
He collapsed on top of her, pulling her to him, holding her there. His balls continued to contract, come surging into her but he remained still and so did she. Even as the fizz of electricity coursed through him, he lay there, breathing lightly into her hair.
It was a long time before she spoke,
“I’m sorry but I can’t.”
He pulled out and rolled away.
Neither could he.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Doing it for the Order *Complete*

Doing it for the Order Complete