Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Story of H	By : AnyaToile Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 62388 -:- 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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Author’s Note: IMPORTANT! I would like to know about what you guys think of Remus’s and Sirius’s deaths. Part of me wants them dead so that they can be in peace with James. But I did have plans that involved Sirius… It won’t cause book five to be AU at all, though. Just give me a heads up.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed;keep reading and doing so.

                Hermione tried to shield her face with her hands, but her attacker just moved his assault to her neck. The rough wetness left a slick trail behind.

                “Stop! Stop it!” Hermione said as she let out a sleepy giggle, “Alright, Crooks! Alright, I’m up.”

                The orange cat slapped his paw on his master’s nose once more for good measure and leapt up. He walked with a strut which shouted how important he felt himself. With his nose raised in the air, Crookshanks leapt into the seat of his self-declared thrown. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him when he under judged the distance and only managed to land his front half on the chair. He clumsily pulled himself up, ripping long claw marks through the fabric. Once up, he stuck his nose back into the air, did several turns, and then plopped down rather heavily.

                Hermione flung the blankets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She headed to the chair and balanced on her haunches to look at Crookshanks.

                “Perhaps you’re finally feeling your age, old man,” Hermione murmured and reached a hand out to scratch him behind the ear.

                Crookshanks let out an irritated growl and turned his head to face the back of the chair.

                “Well, it happens to all of us, grumpy pants,” Hermione said as she stood back up and began to make her bed – box corners, not hospital; the top sheet turned print side down so that when it was pulled back it showed the right side of the fabric; the duvet, wrinkle free; and the cashmere throw her grandmother had given her two years ago for Christmas arranged just so to look effortlessly thrown. She stepped back to admire her work, nodded with a smile, and then turned towards the wardrobe to get dressed.

                Hermione had unfortunately forgotten about her new piece of bedroom décor hanging from the post of her bed and walked right into the enema bag. She batted it away and almost immediately felt the anger from last night bubbling through her veins.

                She stomped to the wardrobe, ripped the doors open and yanked out a pair of jeans and a red sweater. She also made a quick rummage through her lingerie box and found a fresh pair of boyshorts; they were baby blue and had a little pink bow which didn’t scream mature young woman, but they were clean, new, and far nicer than the cotton briefs with the elastic worn out of them that she normally put on. She slipped on some gold ballet flats to finish things off – if she was going to be a Gryffindor and confront Professor Snape tonight, she was going to need to look the part. She secured her hair in a messy bun, shoving several dark quills and her wand into the heavy knot. Surveying herself quickly in the mirror she decided that yes, she was prepared for anything.

                Now it was time to get to work.

                Hermione scooped Crookshanks up, causing him to yowl, and then sat heavily down on the spot he had occupied. She began to pet him, running her hand slowly and firmly from his head to the base of his tail. As she did so, she allowed her mind to drift to the task at hand. What was she going to do anyway? Tell Professor Snape his actions towards her last night were hurtful, unfair, and scary? Hermione frowned at this, because it wasn’t as if he was suddenly going to declare that she was right, he had seen the light, and would behave much better in the future. That was as likely as Pansy Parkinson getting down on knee and proposing to her.

                And perhaps Snape had done everything by the books. Hermione didn’t like him very much because he was obviously biased and downright cruel to Hermione, Ron, and Harry; but at the same time, Hermione held a tremendous amount of respect for the professor. Not just because he was a professor, either. She admired what he had done for the wizarding world -- never turning his back on doing the right thing even when it meant losing every friend he had. He always did what was ultimately right, even if others didn’t see that. She couldn’t help but romanticize him as a hero because of his willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice for the light side.

                She kept her mind away from the night that she and the boys watched the potion master bleed out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Harry hadn’t told her what was in the memories that had been shared with him, but from the sudden reverent attitude Harry had developed towards his professor, she could assume it was something significant indicating Snape’s good character. She shuddered as the images of Harry collecting the memories floated through her head; blood was everywhere and the professor’s eyes were so glossy and terrified and… regretful. It was a combination of dumb luck and good planning that… Well, Hermione wouldn’t think of that. She couldn’t.

                Her thoughts jumped back to the night before; perhaps it was mostly proper. Of course, when she recalled some of what he said, she couldn’t be sure that he lived his life in the conventions of obligatory standards anymore. He had such animosity towards her. Who were those that had been cast off? Hermione racked her brains, but everyone who had fought in the last battle had been honored, even those dead. And what sane man could really have such an ungracious attitude to someone who had clearly saved his life, even if he wasn’t aware of their identity?

                Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of him.

                Straightening up, she sat Crookshank back onto his chair and headed out of the room. She stopped at the door and turned back around to survey the place. Remembering that Snape had somehow managed to get into her room bothered her; only the headmistress was to know the passwords to the individual bedrooms, though all heads of house knew the password to get into the common area.

                Though Hermione would never admit it out loud, the fact that he’d seen a side of her that was less than perfectly ordered and pristine bothered her more than that he was in her space. Quickly, she pulled her wand out of her hair and cleaned the ink up from the desk and carpet. Then she moved the books across the room against the wall – she couldn’t take them out of their piles because they were arranged by subject and need as well as level in a system that would have confused Madame Prince. It was her laundry day so she knew she wouldn’t have to worry about the mess in the corner, but she made a mental note to ask her mother to purchase a laundry bin over the break. Finally, she squared her shoulders and marched towards the chair Crookshanks was laying in.

                “Up, please,” she said firmly, “I need to clean it.”

                The feline ignored her like it was the cutting edge of vogue.

                “Up now!” she said as she folded her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.

                Crookshanks merely glanced at her with one eye and then rolled onto his back.

Hermione reached down and grabbed him by the scruff with one hand and lifted him up as she mutter a repairo to fix the multiple scratches and then vanished the orange fur. She lifted her familiar to look him in his yellow eyes and wrinkled her nose at him.

                “Would it be too hard to cooperate sometimes?”

                He replied by duffing her on the nose with his paw. She set him gently back down, gave him a pat, tucker her wand back into her hair, and walked out of her bedroom without the slightest bit of guilt for moving his majesty during his morning nap.

                She made sure the door shut firmly behind her and turned around to find Thomas sitting on the sofa with several books and pieces of parchment spread out in front of him.

                “Herbology report on aconite?” she asked as she glanced over his shoulder.

                “Yeah,” he said looking up with a smile, “I feel this is review though since Professor Snape assigned us quite a bit of work on learning about wolfsbane in second year, though. I’m trying to find something new to add to what he taught us.”

                “Yeah, Ron nearly had a meltdown when we were assigned this paper,” she said in a light tone, “he kept raving about how it was impossible to do so much research into wolfsbane in order to keep our plants alive and have to write a paper about aconite. Harry finally calmed him down when he explained that they were the same plant.”

                “That’s rather funny,” Thomas said with a chuckle as he turned on the sofa to look at Hermione, “Weasley can be pretty thick.”

                Hermione leaned forward with her forearms resting on the back of the sofa as she said, “No, not really. He doesn’t study as hard as he should and he’s certainly no Ravenclaw. But Ron is very intelligent and logical and most importantly a good friend which takes a certain type of intelligence all its own.”

                Her words were soft and there was a faint smile as she stared at the wall in front of her. When she looked back, Thomas was staring at her with his eyebrow raised. Hermione blushed slightly and looked down at her hands.

                “Anyway, I wanted to ask you a question,”

                “THE Hermione Granger needs information from me?” Thomas’s tone was playful, “Go for it.”

                “Well, do you know anything about…well, that is to say, are you familiar…I mean, do you know much about disciplinarian techniques employed here at Hogwarts?”

                Thomas’s eyes widen slightly before he narrowed them and wrinkled his nose.

                Hermione felt her face grow hot and then felt her chest tighten as he said, “Seriously, Hermione, I can’t believe you. You just aren’t a normal girl.”

                He knew what had happened last night. He knew about Snape and the enema and how she had moaned and arched at the stimulation that no normal good girl would like. Thomas knew and was disgusted with her. And now he would tell everyone and she would…

                “Professor Binns’ assignment isn’t due until the week before Christmas break. You’re already getting started on it?”

                Hermione blinked.   She could have kissed that droning ghost right now. Professor Binns had assigned students research essays on a particular piece of Hogwarts history; it could be the building itself, the development of the houses, or a chronological reasoning behind policies. Hermione had been intending to do her paper on the development of the curriculum in muggle studies throughout the years, but this offered the perfect cover for her investigation.

                “Why am I even asking this question?” Thomas sighed, feigning exasperation, “Of course, you’ve already started – probably already finished your paper for Herbology, too.”

                He smiled brightly up at her and said, “Should have been a Ravenclaw.”

                Hermione gave him a small smile and shrugged.

                “You know, I think the headmistress would be the person to ask. Supposedly, there is a book in her office that has every detention ever given with a brief description of the task.”

                “Really? I wonder if Umbridge’s detentions are listed,” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she remembered how she got what she considered her second scar of the war.

                Thomas shuddered and gingerly picked up her hand to run his thumb softly over the tiny words etched forever there:

                I must not question authority.

                Hermione watched as his thumb stroked the marred flesh so tenderly but without pause, as if trying to brush it away to reveal something new and blank underneath. She'd never be blank again. Hermione looked up to find Thomas gazing at her, and her breath caught in her throat.

                “I’m sorry, I really should get down to breakfast,” Hermione blurted as she withdrew her hand and grabbed a stack of fresh parchment from her pile on the common room desk.

                “Well, I’m heading that way, too. Let me escorted you,” Thomas said as he shot up from the sofa.

                “I can’t. Sorry,” Hermione said nervously as she darted towards the portal, “I told Harry and Ron I’d meet them. Should go wake them. You know how those boys like to sleep in.”

                Thomas stepped in front of her, blocking her from the exit.

                “Hermione, you and Ron haven’t been a thing in ages.”

                “It’s only been a month since we decided…”

                “The fact of the matter is that you need to move on. He did.”

                Hermione stepped back. The only word that could be used to describe her at that moment is “flabbergasted.” And perhaps a little outraged.

                Scoffing, she said, “I’m not still mooning over Ron. It was a pretty mutual agreement and I’m happy for him and Romilda. We just happen to be best friends. Always have been. Always will be.”

                “If that’s the case, then why don’t you and I go to Hogsmeade together this afternoon?”

                “Sorry. Can’t,” Hermione mumbled and ducked her head as she brushed past Thomas and out the portal, “It has nothing at all to do with that.”

                If he replied, she didn’t hear it as the portrait of Cleopatra swung back into place.

                The Egyptian pharaoh eyed Hermione and asked sarcastically, “Got any filthy words to say today?”
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The Story of H