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The Massage	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 52203 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

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A/N: Thanks for sticking with me on this! I hope you guys liked the last chapter- the newest in quite some time I know- with all that steam. Hopefully this chapter will hold you guys on too. The muses are moving down the train here!

Her hair hung in wet ringlets around her shoulders. His, though just as wet as hers, fell straight just lying against his shoulders as they sat opposite one another on two stools in his bathroom. Her towel was wrapped fully around her body, his draped only from his waist down. She sat with her legs dangling over the edge of the stool, his legs were long enough to touch the tile of the bathroom floor. She kept her eyes on him, just staring, not moving or speaking for a very long time.

            She wasn’t sure if he had taken her threat of a hex completely serious; at least enough so to have stayed perfectly still at the back of his shower while she calmed herself, gathered her thoughts, shut off the water and stepped out. And they’d moved in silence, she never taking her eyes off him as she took a towel from his rack, covered herself and pulled the stool from under his sink. She didn’t care to think on why the man had a stool in his personal bathroom, much less two, but it was far from her list of thoughtful priorities.

            Hermione was beginning to grow chilled; the water having all but dried from her body and the steam from the shower having long since dissipated. But she hadn’t found the right words yet. Twice in one day it had happened. The indescribably hot sex with the patient in her care; and it was against every principle she stood for under her magical oath. Yet there she sat, trying to wrap her brain around it. It was the most unprofessional thing she had ever done, of that there was no doubt. But her mind was far from her professionalism at the moment.

            She’d expected him to lash out. To sneer or tell her to be off to check on her patients as he had that morning; anything but the silence he was currently giving her. It was strange to see him sitting so very still, watching her as she was watching him. His face was completely unreadable, his eyes closed off to any hint of emotion. He looked very different from the passion driven man who just moments ago had kept her body pinned so tightly to the wall of the shower that she’d nearly exploded. And his face was different still from the broken and vulnerable look she had seen splayed over his features during his first round of treatment.

            It was quite the predicament. It felt like hours that she sat there, simply staring at him, calculating, thinking, the wheels in her mind cranking overtime before she finally parted her lips to speak. “I think I need to prescribe you an outside healer,” she said.

            Severus said nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge that he had heard her speak. His gaze remained unchanged, completely focused straight ahead, staring into her, almost as if he were staring through her.

            “I think it best that I have St. Mungo’s send someone who is more skilled than myself in regards to administering your treatment.” She tried a second statement.

            “Proving my point so quickly, Miss Granger,” he said, his voice slow and even, though the slight twitch of his eyebrows belayed the subtlest hint of mirth. “I said from the off you were not qualified for this position.”

            Hermione scoffed. “My qualifications have nothing to do with…” she gestured her hand back and forth between the two of them. “With this.”

            “And what exactly is this, Miss Granger?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

            She released a sigh of frustration. The threat of hexing may have phased him somewhat but it seemed to have little purchase now as he was quickly regaining his razor-tipped tongue. Despite his quips she found his question impossible to answer as she was uncertain herself. She was meant to be his healer; meant to be a medical professional issuing treatment in the stead of the castle Mediwitch; yet so many lines had been crossed and the treatment didn’t even appear to be working.

            Her silence seemed to provoke him and so he spoke again. “My assessment from the day you arrived was that you did not possess the skills appropriate to fulfill the needs of your patient. And so far you have yet to prove me wrong.”

            She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you think for one second that I am going to accept your label as ill-prepared or incompetent, you are sorely mistaken,” she huffed and found herself on her feet before she even realized she’d stood from the stool. “I followed protocol, I read your charts, I followed the treatment prescribed previously, making adjustments based on your response to the treatments—”

            “And what part of your protocol advises you to manually masturbate your patient?” he sneered.

            Her eyes widened in shock and she found herself faltering. “I—”

            “You should have left, but you chose not to, regardless of the patient’s request— which as a medical professional, or so you call yourself, you should have been able to deem as unreasonable. So you violated your oath and stayed, which part of that is part of your precious protocol, Miss Granger?”

            She wasn’t sure if she was more hurt or furious. Hurt not because of his insult and his daunting tongue but because he was right. She had overlooked the oath she had taken as a healer to appease a patient, perhaps even for selfish reasons. She was angry because he had continued to take advantage of the situation, regardless of how he dismissed her, and she was now caught in a flurry of confusion and worries. Hurt again because in her mind she was now blaming him for taking advantage when the first several times he’d merely been a victim of circumstance that he had no control over. And then furious once more because of the way he’d denied his involvement once it had progressed.

            “It’s no wonder Madam Pomphrey needed sabbatical if she was forced to deal with the likes of you on a daily basis!” she snapped, drawing the towel around her more tightly as she stalked across the floor to the bathroom door. It was a cruel thing to say, the cruelest thing she’d ever said to a patient but she was seething, practically foaming at the mouth as she stalked into his sitting room, even more furious when she remembered her clothes were soaking wet and discarded here and there about his bathroom.

            It had only taken her a moment to storm back into his bathroom, though when she did she stopped herself, not really sure as to why. She should have marched over, picked up her clothing, charmed them dry and left. But the oath she had taken, regardless of how she had previously broken and denied that oath, seemed to scream from the back of her mind that he was still a patient in her care and that despite all of the missteps his problem had not been resolved.

            “You are utterly frustrating to absolutely no end,” she spat.

            “And you are a blithering ninny who takes sport in a serious medical problem at the expense of her patient,” he retorted with equal amounts venom and disdain.

            “You are the one who kept clutching at me— who kept— oh— sod it! You were the one throwing me against the wall and pulling me into your shower—”

            “After you blatantly threw yourself at me, you unprofessional twat!” he was growling now and this only served to incense her further.

            “You didn’t have to fuck me!” she cried.

            “I didn’t hear you begging me to stop!”

            Their voices had elevated, she hadn’t really ever heard him shout. Growl and bark menacingly perhaps; but his last bout, shouted nearly at the top of his lungs, clipped so sternly at her had her taking pause. Much as she loathed it and certainly wouldn’t admit it aloud, he was right. She should have put a stop to it. When he’d thrust her against the wall in his chambers that morning, she could have stopped him. And she certainly never should have sought him out in the bathroom, not as he had. Not with her kiss that he had clearly rebuked only to force her around after her smart comments.

            She never should have let it escalate. And he was right. And that seemed to irk her more than anything else. With the towel still clutched tightly to her she bowed her head slightly and closed her eyes for a brief moment before lifting her head to look at him. “Then you were right all along, Severus, and I will be removing myself from this assignment, the whole bloody castle, effective immediately.”

            Without another word she wordlessly summoned her clothes to her, slipped out of his bathroom, dressed in a haste and departed his chambers.

~*~

            “What in bloody hell do you mean there’s no one else available to take the post?” She cried.

Hermione had straightened her appearance once she had returned to her chambers, taking several moments to gather her composure before stepping into the floo to call her supervisor at St. Mungo’s. The response she received to her request to be dismissed from her current position was far less than pleasing.

            “Surely there has to be someone, anyone else who can take over my duties here!” her exasperated cry echoed through Malkins’ office. Hermione began to pace, a look of utter defeat and desperation crossing her face as she did. “Anyone, anyone at all!”

            “Granger, look, my hands are tied. Pomphrey is settled at least six months and she’s not even been gone a full fortnight. I don’t have anyone half as qualified as you and even if I did— why would I pull a perfectly good Mediwitch out of a job without any explanation other than ‘I need off this case?’ I mean— really? Really, Granger?” Kelbert Malkins shook his head and then stood up from his desk. “I wish I could help you, I really do— but unless you’ve got something better for me than ‘you need off this case’ you’re just going to have to wait it out.”

            “But, sir!” she cried throwing her hands up into the air.

            “But nothing, Granger. I’m sorry,” he said, his own exasperation rising. “If it’s a difficult patient the best I can do is refer you to Poppy Pomphrey, unless the patient is jeopardizing the life of his or herself or others— in which case I would hope you would have had the good sense to lead with that and not with this sad sob story of you needing off the case…” he shook his head. “Granger, I can put you in contact with Pomphrey directly, but outside of that you’re just going to have to tough it out.”

            And that had been the end of the conversation with her supervisor. She found herself seated in the high-backed armchair in front of her fireplace awaiting the floo call from Poppy Pomphrey. She hadn’t been able to leave her chambers after the disheartening dismissal from Malkins, she had been so sure he would pull strings and get her out of the castle and far far away from Severus Snape.

            Every second that ticked by was a second too long for her liking. It forced her to think about all that had happened. It forced her to reconcile with the fact that she’d more than overstepped her bounds. She couldn’t have sited that as grounds for needing to leave the job without running the risk of losing her license to practice medicine. And apparently a difficult patient was not a good enough excuse for exemption from the case either. She sighed; staring blankly ahead into the fireplace, waiting.

            It was nearly an hour later before the head of Poppy Pomphrey finally poked into the green flames. “Dr. Malkins did say it was urgent dear,” she frowned, seeing Hermione in the chair. “What on earth could be so urgent that my holiday need be interrupted?”

            Where did she even begin? Hermione pulled herself up out of the armchair and quickly folded herself down onto her knees before the fire. “I’ll just come right out with it, it’s Professor Snape.”

            The last thing she had expected from the Mediwitch was laughter, but a hearty chuckle was the first thing that left Poppy Pomphrey’s lips. “Oh indeed,” she rolled her eyes.

            “Poppy, this isn’t funny. He’s driven me mad, to the point of not being a suitable healer for this school!” she cried.

            “Severus always was a rather…hard patient,” she seemed to smirk as she said this. “Just…do the best you can with him, dear, I imagine you’ll do him a good sight better than I can.”

            Hermione’s face drew up in horrific shock. “Good Merlin, Poppy! You don’t— I mean surely—”

            “Oh tut, Hermione Granger, it’s a body massage, surely they teach you that in basic, don’t they?”

            Hermione swallowed nervously. “Yes, but he—”

            “Complains an awful lot, of that I know, to be sure,” she said and shook her head. “He’ll complain— he’d rather walk lame with a cane and use it to beat the students than submit to anyone touching his body…it took me years to get him to lay still,” she admitted. “Don’t let the sounds scare you, it’s natural,” she reminded the younger witch. “He’s just a big angry man with a chip on his shoulder— but he would never lash out, honest, Hermione, even if he threatens to do so when working over her back,” she said.

            Hermione stared in utter disbelief at the woman. “Poppy—”

            “Look, if he’s your only problem, then I suggest a thicker skin, surely a little bit of bite from him won’t—”

            “His treatment isn’t working!” she shouted. It was the only thing she could think of to dissuade the woman from prattling on about how he was just a stubborn difficult man. Clearly, as he had said, his issues of arousal during treatment had never been an issue with the previous Mediwitch.

            “Oh,” she said rather solemnly. “I see…” she shook her head and sighed. “I was afraid it might come to that, poor bloke’s body has built up a resistance to the tonics I’ll bet.” Poppy Pomphrey turned her head to the side thoughtfully. “Have you considered tantric thereputia?” she asked.

            “What?”

            “It’s not a practice often used in Great Britain, very obscure, hard to work out, but you’re youthful and rather clever…I think I still have a book on it in my office,” she said. “It’s a series of physical maneuvers that can help realign deep muscle, tissue and nerves that have been damaged by prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse and curses of the like.”

            “Why isn’t it practiced here in Great Britain?” Hermione asked, sure that there must be more to it than it simply being ‘hard to work out.’

            Poppy’s face began to fade from the flames. “Book’s in my office!” she shouted and then disappeared all together.

            Hermione was beyond frustrated by this point, throwing herself onto the floor in a tantrum. She began to kick and scream, pounding the carpet beneath her fists and ankles. “How on earth can this be happening to me?” she shrieked to no one in particular. She allowed herself this small comfort of a child’s tantrum and afterward carefully plucked herself up from the floor, straightened her robes and headed to Poppy Pomphrey’s office.

            Tantric Thereputia: A Guide for Beginners Who Will Soon Become Advanced, the book was titled. She found it easily enough, wedged between two books on the art of acupuncture and magical needlepoint up on the top shelf. It was going to be a long night, and she wasn’t likely to find sleep after all that had happened anyhow.

            If she wasn’t going to be relieved of her duty she was simply going to have to take Poppy’s suggestion to treat him. He would only deteriorate to the point of not being able to teach if she didn’t do something. With a heavy sigh she walked back to her chambers, slipped off all of her clothes, and slid naked under the sheets with the book. “You’d better have answers for me,” she muttered to the book and then flipped open the cover.

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The Massage