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In Their Hands Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 19649 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
A/N: Oracle – If ‘Garden variety manic-depressive, Tedious. Very tedious. Best thing for him really. His therapy was going nowhere’ doesn’t sound Snape-like (at least this Snape) I don’t know what does. ‘Then we jump right into the continued dismantling of Hermione’ – nice descriptor. ‘Hot and diabolical’ – I love that and that’s exactly what I was aiming for. ‘It highlights the missing element even more’ – I thought so too. ‘She's not focused on the personal humiliation per se; she seems to be seeing it from an almost professional standpoint.’ – you are exactly right, she is so out of touch with the emotions associated with intimacy, it has become a point-scoring exercise where she sees herself as the professional first, at risk of losing face. ‘She's missing the emotional connection to that vulnerability’ – yes, it is still a yearning for some sort of professional empathy, rather than vulnerability for the sake of emotional development. ‘Literally holding his hand to take her first steps’ – I effing loved this. Did you notice this story has a lot less swearing by the way? I like swearing so much as you know so it has been difficult to rein it in. ‘Being open sexually means that you are open to all senses being immersed in the experience, and that includes taste.’ – Yes, I do know your thoughts on this and our discussions have helped to shape a lot of what is here. ‘Snape agrees with me and tries to explain it to her’ – I so love how now you and Snape are on the same page here. ‘She doesn't even seem to know what her desires are. She's a passenger, an audience, of her own sexuality, passively observing her life without ever getting her hands "dirty."’ – getting so close to the truth of the matter here. ‘I'm dying to know what's happening to everyone else’ – your wish is my command.

Ice Empress – wow, I loved receiving your review. There seem to be fewer people than usual willing to comment on this story and I wonder if the topic doesn’t lend itself to easy commentary. Regardless, I am lucky to have people like yourself who are willing to tease out some of the tricker elements of what is happening here. Unlike you, I don’t have a psychology background but I work in a related field. Most of this is personal interest and intuition, I probably could afford to research it a bit more closely but I’ve got a busy life and so need to prioritise. I like how you haven’t dismissed Ellory outright despite her abrasive personality, she provides an important balance. ‘She herself is guilty of sensual projection and that causes her to retreat into denial.’ – I loved this. Sometimes people’s comments draw me to elements I haven’t considered fully myself. ‘Severus is amazing because with his history he is able to manipulate and categorize.’ – I really liked this description of his skill set too. ‘Adopting a cool, unaffected countenance that borders on severely repressed’ – perfect! Thanks for the confidence boost from knowing that people are enjoying this – I’ve had to dig a bit deeper than usual to write it.

Chapter 8 – Cool Hand

As she watched him she tried her best to think decent thoughts. He was, after all, helping her. But with Snape frowning in deep concentration, casting a complicated series of incantations to charm Mollison’s mirror, she was so taken with his breathtaking skill and mastery that she could feel herself dripping all over again.

She knew it was going to be a problem. Already she had, undoubtedly, learned a significant amount from him. And it wasn’t simply an intellectual realisation. She felt a deep-seated understanding developing that was important to her both professionally and personally. But, while her body had previously responded to him with Pavlovian anxiety, it now responded with an equally-automatic arousal that was almost violent in the way it captured her.

It shouldn’t have been particularly surprising. She knew the physical manifestations of infatuation and had been on the receiving end more times that she could remember. But, as with so many other concepts, she hadn’t the visceral understanding that she did now. The benefit of her current predicament was that she could both feel the response and perceive it intellectually, adding to its value as a tool that might be employed with greater precision and, hopefully, more beneficial outcomes in the future.

However, when she wasn’t able to distance herself in time, simply being close to him, as she was now, felt like she was in the presence of an extremely composed tornado, a force that could suck her in at any moment.

“That might be it.” He studied the mirror closely, his eyes flickering over it with practised scrutiny, clearly hyper-critical of his own efforts. His perfectionism made her even wetter. Hermione wanted to slap herself around the face.

The image in the mirror was that of Shaun Mollison. It appeared as a perfect reflection, life sized, that Snape had transposed from a photograph. Hermione was still taken with the brilliance of the idea but, she now had to admit, more taken with Snape’s reflection behind it, and her own transposition over it—the ravenous lion that had relentlessly plundered her pussy the previous day.

She groaned.

He glanced at her.

She touched her stomach. “Indigestion.”

“Can I leave this with you?” he asked, returning his gaze to the mirror.

“Yes, thank you.” She only just stopped herself from saying ‘sir.’

That was going to be another problem—maintaining a clear separation between their ‘arrangement’ and the remainder of their interactions.

He nodded before turning and striding from the room.

Just before the doorway, he stopped and looked up. One of the pulleys from Calder and Jaeger’s contraption still hung above the door. With a flick of his wrist, it dropped and he caught it easily in his palm.

A thought suddenly struck Hermione. “Why did they use your room?”

He turned to look at her. “Who do you think set it up? Without their wands, Magical Engineers are fucking useless.”

Then he left.

She stared after him, the energy in the room plummeting as if the sun had suddenly retreated behind a cloud. Stunned but not surprised, she turned the revelation over in her mind. Snape had helped Calder and Jaeger to execute their bondage fantasy. It made sense. He was so accepting of other people’s diverse sexualities. She sighed deeply. Everyone, it seemed, except hers.

***

When she returned to the activities room, she caught sight of Snape and Pomona walking past the windows on their way into the forest. It was the third time in the past week that she d seen them leave together. It was good that the two Professors were enjoying one another’s company. She might prove to be important for his transition back to Hogwarts.

“What’s this? The casual look?” George sauntered up. “Carefree and follicularly abandoned?”

Hermione frowned in confusion.

“The hair,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time you didn’t submit it to the torture of a severe ponytail.”

Slightly bewildered, she looked sideways at the locks that were cascading over her shoulders. She’d forgotten to tie it back. She never forgot.

George raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Dr Granger, have I caught you in a moment of imperfection?”

“Never.” Hermione recovered with a smirk. “It’s simply not possible.”

George grinned in response. “Such refreshing modesty.”

“So how are things progressing here?”

“Well,” he wandered over to a nearby table and picked up a folder, “Sprout wrote a poem entitled ‘Oh me, Oh mine, the Mandrake’ likening her anxiety to the Mandrake scream. It was pretty powerful and I think helped her to think about how to mitigate against its effects.” He reached into the folder. “Then Sarah produced this.”

He handed her a sheet of parchment.

Hermione looked over the soft flowing letters and her heart sank like a stone.

Dark Angel

He appeared. Like night. Or death.

Fleet of foot. Can you hear him? Can you hear the storm?

The forest floor knows of one such as he.

His breast of bark and wings of leaves.

It shudders as I shudder. It sighs as I sigh.

But with him it lifts. One alone into the light.

The shackled breast buckles. Shattering into dust.

George looked at her. “Any thoughts?”

She had more thoughts than she knew what to do with.

“It’s really positive that she’s looking to express herself. We should keep encouraging it.”

She knew it sounded hollow, pathetic. But she was too consumed by both the power of Sarah’s words and, selfishly, how they might be interpreted.

George rubbed his chin, clearly perturbed by her, less than astute, response. “Well, I’ll be sure to call on you when I next need an insight into the bleeding obvious,” he said.

“I’m sorry that I can’t provide some sort of poetic analysis,” Hermione huffed.

“Neither can I,” said George, “But I can provide a poem.”

He cleared his throat.

“There once was a young man from Leeds,

Who swallowed a packet of seeds.

Within half an hour,

His dick was a flower,

And his balls were all covered with weeds.”

Hermione snorted. “I take that back. I can provide a poetic analysis. I would describe the author as immature, shallow and having a penchant for botanical sex.”

“Accurate,” he nodded. “Sprout gave me that one. I’ll pass on your analysis.”

“Don’t you dare!”

George backed away. “I can’t make any promises,” he said, spreading his arms wide before leaving to join Emily who was undertaking her trauma release exercises on the mats in the corner of the room.

Hermione was pleased to see the progress Emily had made in just one day, allowing the tremor to capture her muscles, shaking out the tension.

Dennis, as usual, was playing the piano. But this time it was a tune she didn’t recognise, simple but beautifully melodic.

“Is that a new one?” she asked, leaning against the top of the piano to watch him.

“Yes. Professor Snape taught it to me. It’s called ‘the lost song’. He said to play it when I lose something. And it will be found.”

Hermione watched his hands, once clumsy and hesitant, now confident and flowing. She felt herself seeing him as more than simply a boy, locked in a man’s body. She realised, now, that she had been too Freudian in her original diagnosis. By pigeon-holing him, she’d denied the complexity of his current make-up. And she felt herself now opening up to new ways of engaging with him.

“Will you come for a walk with me later?” she asked.

He stopped playing and looked at her with a shy grin. “Of course.”

***

George, Ellory and Lynch were already seated in the staff room when she entered for their pre-dinner meeting.

She had spent the afternoon with Shaun Mollison, explaining to him the purpose of the mirror and the thought processes she wanted him to engage with while using it. She could feel some resistance from him and, with her new insights from Snape, suspected that on some level he was still looking to retain the curse. She’d scheduled a meeting with him the following day with the intention of discussing it.

“Do you want to start, Simone?” Lynch nodded to her.

Ellory pushed the glasses that had been perched on her head, down to her nose to read her notes.

“Pomona is making good progress in my opinion,” she said. “Under hypnosis, she revealed that the greenhouse door seemed to have been deliberately propped open when the Venomous Tentacula escaped. I wonder if this might be the information she needs to stop blaming herself for its attack on her first year class.”

Everyone nodded.

“Then, of course, we have the miracle woman.” Ellory glanced up at the others. “Sarah. Who would have thought, only a week or two in and already she seems to be cured?”

Hermione focused on the cup of tea before her.

“She’s still only engaging superficially but it’s an excellent start and, no doubt, we will get to the bottom of her issues in good time,” Ellory continued.

“She’s spending a lot of time walking in the forest,” added Lynch. “I’m encouraging her to keep exploring—bringing back any items of interest that she finds. She’s liable to be completely sky-focused otherwise.”

‘She needed grounding’, thought Hermione. Snape had, of course, been right.

“And . . . then there’s Snape.”

Hermione looked up at Ellory, who seemed to be deliberately avoiding her gaze.

“He seemed to take a lot from his massage therapy session this afternoon.”

“What?”

Ellory placed her pen down on her notes with slow deliberation before sliding her glasses off and fixing Hermione with a glare.

“As I predicted. Snape was holding a lot of tension in his body. I performed a full massage on him and, judging by his response, he seemed to find it . . . a release.”

Hermione turned to Lynch. “You let her massage him?”

Lynch fixed her with his blue eyes. “As we discussed previously, Dr Ellory is a qualified massage therapist. I considered it an appropriate approach for this particular client.”

Hermione shook her head. “I thought you said something had to be sorted out before you authorised it.”

“It’s been sorted,” he replied abruptly, not deviating his gaze.

She was furious beyond reason but there was absolutely nothing she could say. Remaining practically mute for the remainder of the meeting, she snatched up her notes at the end and stormed out of the room.

He was seated by himself, reading a book and picking morsels from his plate. Hermione didn’t even pretend to want to eat. She made a bee-line for his table and sat without waiting to be invited.

“Why did you let Ellory massage you?” she said in a low voice.

Placing his fork on his plate, he sat back in his seat and frowned at her. Then, folding his magazine, he leaned forward. “Do not mistake our ‘arrangement’ for a relationship,” he hissed. “I will give and receive, to and from, whom I wish. And never attempt to make me fit into your narrow view of the world.”

With that, he dropped the magazine on the table and left.

***

The bonfire was well and truly ablaze by the time Hermione arrived at ‘the Bath’ that evening. All of the bench seats were already occupied and, she noticed, Sarah was sitting with Snape. She seemed to be watching his hands. No doubt he was impressing her with his whittling.

Hermione was well and truly aware of the psychopathology she was demonstrating. It was as plain as the nose on her face. She was insanely jealous.

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she stood, gazing into the flames that leapt and curled around the tepee of logs that Lynch had arranged. Her usual self-flagellation would involve berating herself for her unprofessionalism and objectifying her emotions. But standing alone, against the roaring flames, she felt small and craved a level of self-compassion she rarely afforded herself.

Her inner critic who, let’s face it, was a seasoned professional, would claim that she was simply feeling sorry for herself. However, the truth of the matter was that she hadn’t had sexual relations with anyone for over two and half years. She had spent that time, and more besides, repressing her sexuality for the purposes of focusing on her profession—a living oxymoron, the sexless sex therapist.

But she’d needed to control her interactions within such narrow parameters, it had seemed like the only way. Now, she wondered if perhaps it wasn’t.

That fledgling part of her that had been released, or perhaps born anew, in the past two days felt, now, like it had been crushed before it even had a chance to be. Hermione could feel the tears welling in her eyes and, although she was far enough from the rest of the group for it not be noticed, she didn’t even want her energy impacting upon an evening that should be about connection and contemplation around this beautiful sparking pyre.

Gradually receding beyond the edge of the golden firelight, she backed into the darkness of the trees and cast Lumos before turning and stumbling away.

She had no particular plan beyond fleeing but knew that if she kept walking, she would end up at a path that led to the back entrance of the Retreat.

Weaving between trunks, she finally allowed the tears to fall, hot against the pinching chill of her cheeks. It was a relatively silent release, no sobbing or wailing, just harsh rasping breaths signifying the acceptance of a difficult truth.

And then he was there, impossibly materialising out of the darkness. And she fell into him without thought, burying her face in the rough wool of his coat. One strong arm encircled her. It wasn’t a hug by any means, but it brought a level of comfort all the same.

She willed herself not to cry, but the breaths that bloomed from her in the blue light of Lumos were clearly beyond that induced by physical exertion alone.

“Jealousy is an expression of impotent desire,” he rumbled in her ear. “It is the antithesis of what you have learned. Your mind is both flexible and adaptable. Use it.”

She reined in her breaths and nodded before looking up into his face.

He gently swung her around until her back was against the trunk of a nearby tree before pressing against her. When she felt his erection through the fabric of his trousers, it brought such a wave of relief that she felt like crying all over again. On some level she’d wondered if he was even attracted to her. After all of the commentary around her sub-par appearance, she had even contemplated that she might repulse him.

Certainly the carnal intensity of his demonstration the previous day had suggested some level of desire but, then again, it was a performance intended to illustrate a point more than anything else. Wasn’t it?

Her fingertips trailed over the hard contours of him and she felt him tense.

“Can I touch you, sir?” she murmured, repeating her line from their previous encounter.

He paused before giving a brief nod.

Casting Leviosa on her wand so that it floated in the air beside them, she reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, before sliding her hand inside to feel the silky warmth of his cock. It had been so long since she’d touched one that she’d forgotten both the comfort and intensity of holding the rigid symbol of desire in her palm. Despite the time away, she knew his was bigger than any of her previous partners. She’d never thought she had a particular preference but could already feel her pussy clenching in anticipation.

Gently squeezing his shaft, she ran her hand up and down its length, pausing at the head to draw her fingers through the pre-cum that had pooled there. Suddenly, he grasped her wrist and murmured the seam splitting spell, causing her jeans and knickers to fall away into a pool at her feet.

Before she knew it, he'd lifted her against the trunk and hooked one of her legs around his hip. Then she felt two of his fingers sliding into her sopping entrance, no doubt checking her readiness before he lined his head up with her opening.

“Do you agree to continue?” His rich voice reverberated through her chest.

“Yes,” she gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

He thrust into her.

“Uuhhhh!” Her head slid against the bark as she tipped her face to the night sky.

With short strokes, he gradually worked his way inside, giving her tight channel a chance to stretch to accommodate him. She’d been right, he was much bigger than she remembered anyone being but there was a good chance her pussy had shrunk after years of little use. The sensation of him embedded inside her made her feel so incredibly full, not only within the confines of her pelvis but also in the tortured confines of her chest, that it made her groan.

Lengthening his strokes, his cock slid almost fully out of her on each rhythmic thrust, before he drove it back home. He was so fluid in his movements, she felt like she was being fucked by some sort of sex connoisseur, a virtuoso of fucking which, perhaps, he was.

When she had loosened up, he started to thrust into her with greater intensity, bottoming out inside her as he rammed her against the tree.

Each thrust was met by a keening moan as she began to lose control. He sped up his strokes to match the tightening of her pussy and she felt herself rapidly approaching the edge.

“Make me come, sir,” she whispered into his shoulder and he groaned in response, the first sound she’d heard him make.

“I didn’t give you permission to . . . speak,” he ground out, as he continued to pump into her.

Biting her lip she tried not to make a sound but then cried out as she came, a huge explosion around his pistoning shaft, his hard contours providing exquisite resistance for her pulsing muscles as she bucked against him.

“Unnnhhhh, you feel so good, sir,” she gasped before he suddenly pulled out of her, his iron cock shining in the light of the Lumos spell.

As he pushed it back into his trousers she grabbed his arm. “Why didn’t you come?”

“This is not about me,” he growled, before pulling away from her and disappearing into the night.
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In Their Hands *Complete*

In Their Hands Complete