Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Story of H	By : AnyaToile Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 62707 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters associated with it; I am not making any sort of money or compensation for this work.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author’s Note: I know you have been excited by frequent updates (I get that way, too, when I’m reading something), I will be seeing some pretty busy days from here till December so be prepared for updates to come as slow as only twice a week. Sorry. Hopefully, it will be finished by December.

Alina- It seems that I may have overlooked your reviews. Terribly sorry about that. Don’t worry about the lines of gross. Like I’ve said, there ARE some places even I won’t go. Not many, but I do have boundaries.

SnakeGirl- Enemas are far more satisfying when administered as punishment, I think. And I won’t reveal too much, but Snape does have Hermione’s health at least partially in mind. Think back to his reaction when he found out that she had waited three days before getting help.

Divine_nimbus- Thank you! You’ll learn some answers to your questions within the next five chapters. I love how you picked up on Snape’s pushing Hermione to her limits. We just need to know now if that was intentional or not. And remember, Snape is not a man who has developed a whole lot of trusting relationships.

For everyone else who is reading, don’t forget to review and enjoy!

                Hermione trudged through the deserted common room – Thomas had probably gone on to bed several hours ago – and slipped into her room. Hermione turned to her bathroom door and stood, swaying back and forth slightly as she tried to convince herself to go on and shower before plopping into bed. She shook her head and turned on her heel and walked across the room to launch herself onto her bed. Just as she was about make the leap, she noticed something strange that caused her trip and crash backward, catching her side on the corner of her desk.

                “Damn. Damn. Damn,” Hermione repeated over and over, clutching her side and drawing whistling breaths between her teeth. When the pain had subsided, she wiped the tears that had sprung into her eyes. She sat up and pulled her wand out of her robe and cautiously approached her bed. In the back of mind she could hear Ron’s voice telling her she had Mad-eye syndrome, but war will do that for person. Besides, she could recall a particular episode in sixth year where Ron hadn’t exercised proper precaution when faced with strange packages laying in one’s dorm.

                Hermione ran her wand over the top of the white box, checking for several curses and major jinxes. She did the same to the parchment envelope lying beside it. Finally, she was satisfied that they could be opened. But…

                Safety first. She grabbed her bag with another sixth year memory floating through her head; this one of Katie Bell’s ethereal screams after she was cursed by the necklace meant to kill Dumbledore. She shook off the melancholy at the thought of the lives ruined by war. Now was not the time to mourn, she thought as she slipped on her dragon hide gloves.

                Hermione gingerly picked up the envelope and turned it over. She felt a surge of relief as her eyes traced the spidery letters. Then her heart dropped. What did he want? How had he gotten this here? Had he been in her room?

                She dropped the letter back on the bed and glanced around her room. The best she could say was that her bed was neatly made – a habit that she’d begun at the young age of three. The rest of her room didn’t reflect well. Crookshanks, despite his old age, was still capable of impressive acrobatic feats; earlier that morning he had leapt onto the desk and knocked a bottle of ink over in protest of her leaving without their daily cuddle (the poor guy had a little case of separation anxiety since he’d gotten left behind while the boys and she had hunted Horcruxes). The corner had a little pile of laundry, on top of which were two pairs of the tattiest underwear she owned. Her most comfortable bra, tatty as the panties in the laundry, was hanging off the knob of the draw on her bedside table. There were stacks of books, five to ten books each, placed conveniently for her research purposes but that also blocked the path of traffic so that you had to weave.

                She silently thanked the house elves for being vigilant with cleaning Crookshanks’ litter box because she hadn’t had the time with her course load – she had a full year in her education to make up.

                She took off her dragon hide gloves and threw them back into her back and went to sit in the chair at her desk. She placed her hands under her bottom, palms down on the chair and let her head fall forward to her knees.

                If he had found her an incapable child before, this surly cemented those thoughts. She let out a groan as she reflected on how immature, scattered, and downright unsexy her bedroom would make her look to anyone who entered it right now.

                Keeping her lower half bent over her knees, she looked up and puffed a piece of hair from her face to glare at the box laying on her bed.

                “Why do I care what he thinks?”

                The thing was, for some untouchable reason, she did care. She straightened up, keeping her hands under her and steered her thoughts back to the question of what it was sitting in the letter and the very curious white box. What would he have given her?

                She jumped up from the chair and flung herself on the bed. She picked up the letter and stared at it, as if it had some clue on the envelope. She rolled off the bed, letter still in hand and walked to the other side of the room to sit next to the window in a cat fur coated chair. Crookshanks leapt unannounced into her lap as she turned the letter over and over in her hand.

                He had been in her room.   She absently began to stroke Crookshanks who had been purring from the moment he landed. She turned it over and looked at the handwriting on it. What was in it? She smiled and bit her bottom lip as she traced the letters that spelled out “Miss Granger” simply. He had been in her room.

                She allowed herself to feel exited as she lifted the flap and slid the folded parchment out. She allowed herself to inhale the scent of it deeply. She had always enjoyed the smell of parchment. There was something magical and wondrous about parchment.

                She slowly unfolded the letter with eyes scrunched closed, as if she were waiting for it to begin verbally abusing her in a rich baritone or explode. When nothing happened, she opened one eye and then the other. She sat back. It was just a…letter. She looked at the words for a minute without reading them. It was almost like looking at one of her assignments after he had graded it. Finally, she began to read the words:

                Miss Granger,

You will find the equipment for your treatments in the package. Remove it

post haste and hang it up to dry overnight. This is now for your individual use and

should not be reused by any other individual. Bring all parts to the next treatment

which is scheduled for tomorrow evening at nine. Do not be late. Tardiness will

result in swift and appropriate discipline.

In regards to your recent treatment, you may experience some soreness in

that area; while it may be discerning for one as sheltered as yourself, slight

discomfort is normal. Any bleeding or severe pain is cause for alarm and you should

set aside your insufferable pride and not hesitate to come to me for examination.

                Prof. Severus Snape

                Hermione threw the letter to the floor. She couldn’t believe the audacity of that man. He hadn’t even addressed the appropriateness of his actions and here he was emphasizing the word in a manner that said he didn’t trust her to make her own assessment of the situation. She scooped up Crookshanks who let out a meow of protest. She stood up and marched towards the bed where her half-kneazle hopped out of her arms and landed, curling up on Hermione’s pillow.

                “Vile, horrid man!”

                She stomped her foot and picked up the box, contemplating chunking it out her window.

                She remembered the discomfort of the past three days and sighed. Setting the box down, she pulled off the lid and starred down into it. Inside laid the bag, hose and nozzle. She lifted them out and hung them onto the post of her bed. She then went over to the window and closed the curtains; she didn’t want anyone that might happen by on a broom, unlikely as it was, to look in and see the bag.

                She herself looked at the bag and thought about what someone else would think if they knew she had an intense urge to place the nozzle back inside of her and feel that strange, pleasant fullness that had accompanied the first part of the enema. They’d probably think she was disgusting. Snape probably thought she was disgusting. She sighed once more and decided that she did in fact need the shower more than she needed the sleep.

                Stepping into her bathroom, so wonderfully private, she began shedding clothes as she walked towards the shower and turned the water on. She turned around to face the large mirror that hung above the sink and turned every which way, appraising herself. She turned her back towards it and parted her cheeks to examine herself just as she had done in the dungeon bathroom.

                She was angry he hadn’t stayed to discuss this. She was angry he hadn’t addressed her obvious arousal. No snide comments, no admonishments, no acknowledgement whatsoever. And she was positive that the majority of what he’d done had been completely forbidden.

                She dropped her hands back to her sides and turned around to face the mirror directly once more. She decided that she would just have to bring it up herself it the potions masters wouldn’t.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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The Story of H