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At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 80085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
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
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: Hey folks, just letting you know that I’ve taken a prompt in the SS/HG smutfest so things might be a little delayed as I try to get that done also, DSxx
Charmed1x – More delivered! :)
Discord_The_Lunatic – Indeed! ;)
AnnaPompoir – I must confess that ‘the restricted session’ was probably before I discovered the HP fanficdom. I was embarrassingly slow on the uptake. ‘So glad to see wicked stories still being spun here’ – Oh yes, and very pleasing to find readers who enjoy them. :) ‘Nothing better than a Snape who is both eloquent and evocative’ – I totally agree. Thank you :)
Kvarta – ‘Snape was impotent. - nooo! You can't do that to him, you just can't. Just no!’ – there’s still plenty he can do ;) ‘I'm not into math per se, but there is an X that I'd need help solving - will we see his cock in this story? *blink, blink with puppy eyes*’ – hahaha, I never thought I’d have to quell the cock begging :) ‘the wizarding equivalent of the vibrator :D’ – wouldn’t that be just so handy? ‘ok now tell me, where can I get him and who do I have to kill?’ – well, you’ll find him skulking around in the dungeons . . . with a bottle of wine ;) ‘that man is a glutton for self-torture, he is S-M all in one package’ – hmmm, this is an interesting insight into our man of mystery. I hope sleep has been kinder to you. RL has been kinder to me. Thanks for asking. Xxoo
OO – ‘So much intrigue. And anal stimulation. What more can a girl ask for?’ – LOL. Nothing . . . just nothing ;D. ‘So she does have some insight into her own issues’ – more and more I think . . . and perhaps he’s helping her with that . . . providing a mirror? ‘He could be acting this way for any number of reasons. And the whole thing might be skewed by Hermione's perceptions’ – ooh, yes, and unfortunately we can’t ask Mr Grumpy himself as he might give just a little too much away ;) Thanks for the comma splice, I’m not even sure I knew it was called that (did I just do one then?). ‘it just makes me wonder how she will force his deliverance . . . and is he asking her to (subconsciously or purposefully).’ – mmmm, I loved this bit of insight . . . not long to wait! ‘Just like Hermione's kiss did to you, Snape?’ shame shame shame, you know your name’ – looks like you have his measure (or you’d like a bit of his measure . . . works either way :))
CheiChei87 – To begin with, I must say I loved the massive ‘wowzer’! :D ‘Hopefully this will allow her to finally move on from the war, and become her own person again.’ – that does seem to be the direction that she is going – more revealed in this chapter. ‘Small things are so significant in regards to this Snape and his character’ – you are so right. ‘shows how much the previous encounter actually effected him’ – yessss, glad that came across. ‘I also appreciated the insight into the return of Snape to Hogwarts, postwar’ – awesome, I’m pleased it helped to flesh him out. ‘Part of me hopes she goes a bit Maggie Gllynhall in 'the secretary' and just hangs out on Snapes chair until he returns’ – hahaha, that is certainly one option . . . I won’t spoil it ;) x
SickPuppy – I’m glad you’re finding this story interesting. Maybe we’ll make a Snamione shipper out of you yet. Thank you for your thoughts ;)

Chapter 9 – Master Plan
Driving measured, misty breaths into the crisp morning air, Hermione hurdled one fallen log and then another, winding her way in and out of the earthen track skirting the banks of the Black Lake. Footfalls light, muscles springy, she felt stronger, more agile than she had in a very long time. She’d barely broken a sweat and was almost half way through her usual circuit. In fact, she was seriously considering going around a second time if she could manage to fit it in before breakfast.
Over the past few days she had discovered a new level of focus. Perhaps it was the joy and relief of finally having her wand returned—she had certainly been revelling in the efficacy and efficiency that the reunion afforded her . . . they’d been inseparable for nearly eight years after all.
But perhaps it wasn’t her wand at all—or even what she’d been inspired to do with it since her last encounter with Snape—perhaps it was something more . . . an understanding . . . a realisation . . . but not one she could necessarily articulate.
It had taken her an inordinate amount of time to leave his office in the end. Partly because she could barely walk as a result of the tremulous fatigue in her muscles, induced by the intense pressure of the rope binds, but there was also the fact that she had had to hunt down her far-flung clothing before carefully restoring the seams that Snape had skilfully disintegrated in his frenetic disrobing.
The other delay was caused by her failed attempts to find the book. She had perused his entire collection, or at least the ones located in his office; clearly there were many more in his private chambers and Merlin knew where else.
Eyes and fingers trawling over shelf after shelf, she’d paused to ogle and marvel at more than a few. In fact, she was stunned to discover that he possessed one of the most eclectic and extraordinarily rare book collections she had ever encountered. Constantly surprised by the seminal and exotic publications, Muggle and Wizarding alike, she began to sense not only an extremely refined, but diverse range of interests.
He had amassed the most comprehensive selection of pre-eminent potion-making texts she’d ever seen, as well as intriguingly ancient books on the dark arts, charms and spell-casting. Muggle books included those on, astronomy, botany, entomology, anatomy and various other scientific pursuits. However, there were just as many texts on history, arts and literature, culture, philosophy and a set of autobiographies from both men and women . . . artists, politicians, even musicians. Between those there were a smattering of assorted others from cars and clocks, to linguistics and anthropology.
Finally she discovered a single shelf of fiction books—mostly classics but others that weren’t—adventures, mysteries and love stories that she could never imagine him reading. Perhaps he hadn’t . . . although there was no evidence that he collected on a whim. Judging by the rest, even these had been carefully selected for some perceived value.
It struck her, as she considered these tellingly sentimental tales amongst the patently erudite, that it was quite a risk having them sitting on display for others to potentially see. They revealed a side to him that he seemed to be at great pains to hide. Or perhaps he admitted precious few, staff and students alike, into this space—and the titles were, admittedly, difficult to read from any distance—she’d had to pull his desk chair over, standing on the arms to see them properly.
In the end, Hermione had found the entire literary exploration to be a surprising antidote to her earlier hurt and anger. By the time she reached the final publication, despite the absence of her own book, her frustration and fury had ebbed away and she was left with an odd contentment, an acceptance that had eluded her in recent months . . . and a deeper understanding of Snape in the language that she knew all too well—books.
Her overall feelings about him, however, were still somewhat confused. She was now convinced that he was trying to instruct her . . . that he was attempting some sort of therapeutic exchange through what she would still consider to be entirely unconventional and somewhat inappropriate means. This latest interaction, however, was the closest he had come to explicitly articulating that he considered her issues to be traumatically induced . . . whilst inferring perhaps certain parallels between their two circumstances.
But then he had dropped her . . . literally. She’d barely touched him and he’d fled. It was as though he was harbouring two entirely different personalities—one cold, confident and detached but with the potential to be both overbearing and vindictive, the other unsure and quite vulnerably fearful—one perhaps protecting the other. And it made for a frightening combination . . . he was both unpredictable and explosive, like a damaged but deadly wild animal.
And that’s exactly why she wasn’t finished with him.
Heaving with exertion as she pushed herself to sprint back up the hill, she reflected upon the disappointment she had felt when Slughorn had unexpectedly returned to the Potions classroom the following day. A coincidence? Perhaps . . . but she considered it unlikely. Snape had also been absent from the Great Hall for the remainder of the week and she’d wanted to see him. She’d wanted to see his face, to gauge if anything had changed for him . . . as it had for her.
She was transforming . . . slowly but surely . . . taking ownership of herself once again. It felt like Hermione Granger was finally returning—Gryffindor, fighter, defender, advocate, guardian . . . but not the old model . . . a newer version who knew herself far better, more intimately (much more intimately). She had found surprising strength and confidence in that depth of understanding . . . of being able to identify with herself, her body, her feelings, of finally trusting her intentions.
Reaching the top of the hill, she staggered to a standstill, bending over and clutching her knees to catch her breath. Tonight was the Ball. She desperately hoped that Snape would be in attendance as she happened to have been working on a plan . . . for him. After all, he had taken it upon himself on multiple occasions to enact his own judgement of what he considered her deficits to be. Now it was her turn to do the same. She would be giving him what her instincts told her he was in desperate need of.
He wasn’t going to like it, in fact there was a chance it would drive him to punish her more severely than ever before. But if he was going to insist upon running away and spending almost an entire week hiding from her, she felt she had little choice.
She needed to force his hand. And the consequences? Well, she wasn’t quite prepared to consider those . . . not yet.
Straightening, she propped her hands on her hips as she gazed up at the castle. A lone figure stood atop the astronomy tower, black robes lifting on the gentle breeze. She watched as he slowly retreated from the railing, before turning and disappearing.
That was the last time he would be running from her.
***
Hermione chewed her bottom lip as she pulled dress after dress from her cupboard. Since she couldn’t leave Hogwarts to buy a new one, she’d decided to transfigure one of her old ones for the evening. There was a certain look she was going for . . . slutty elegance . . . that shouldn’t be too hard to achieve. And the colour? It was out of green or black. Green would be too obvious. So black it was.
Tossing the rejected others onto the bed, she held up her little black dress in order to make it even more disconcertingly brief. Holding the tip of her wand to the neckline, she stretched and slung it down to where she knew it would reveal a good deal of cleavage (she’d perfected a breast-lifting charm especially for the occasion). Grimacing a little, she continued the modifications. There were bound to be some raised eyebrows, and even more frowns—McGonagall would look like she’d swallowed the Snitch.
Still it was all for a good—
Knock. Knock.
Huffing, Hermione dropped the semi-transfigured dress on top of the pile before striding over to the door and opening it.
“Hey, ‘Mione!”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Then she beamed.
“Harry!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck.
He lifted her off the ground as he hugged her. He hadn’t grown that much but he felt bigger, stronger.
“Oi, steady on!” His voice was muffled by her hair.
She found herself reluctant to let him go but eventually she had to as she could feel him straining against her grip.
“Anyone would think you’d been on detention for weeks.” He grinned, straightening his glasses as her arms finally slid away.
Her face dropped. “Oh, so you know?”
“Of course I know. I must have received ten owls at least . . . but none from you.” His green eyes weren’t accusing, just concerned.
“Yeah, well . . .” She stood aside for him to enter. “That’s another part it . . . no correspondence with the outside world.”
“Bloody hell . . . he’s really got you by the short and curlies, hasn’t he?” Harry thrust his hands into his pockets as he looked around the room.
Hermione stared at him. How could she explain that, thanks to Snape, she no longer even possessed short and curlies to be gotten by?
“But this is nice, though.” Harry nodded at the spacious room. “You seem to be doing all right?”
If it had been a week earlier, Hermione would have instantly dissolved into a blubbering mess or broken into peals of hysterical laughter. But the truth was that, today, she was doing all right. Despite everything . . . or perhaps even because of it . . . she was okay, and could respond truthfully.
“Yes . . . I’m doing all right.”
He smiled. “I must admit I was pretty chuffed to hear that you were keeping up the tradition . . . giving Snape the run-around, keeping the greasy old git on his toes.” It was the usual put down but without the usual malice. His stance on Snape had softened considerably since the Shrieking Shack.
Hermione ran a hand self-consciously through her hair. If he only knew the truth . . . it was Snape that was keeping her on her toes, on her knees . . . hanging from the—
“Ginny says you’ve earned a lot of the points back already. What does he have you doing?”
“Oh, you know . . .” Hermione plopped down on her bed and curled her legs under herself. “Just . . . boring stuff . . .” She shook her head dismissively. “Nothing exciting . . . just the old favourites.”
Harry nodded. “Seen plenty of those.”
Hermione returned a half-smile.
‘I just wondered,” Harry suddenly continued, his eyes shuttering slightly in thought, “after everything that happened to him . . . that he might have—”
“Have you seen much of Ron?” Hermione interrupted. She didn’t want that conversation going any further. Harry was pretty astute—far more than Ron, anyway. It was approaching dangerous territory.
“Oh yeah, loads. I’ve been to most of his games . . . some of his training sessions.”
Hermione felt a pang of jealousy.
“He says to say ‘hi’.”
“Brilliant . . . has his entire vocabulary deteriorated to two-letter words?” she sniped sarcastically. “A few Bludgers to the head will do that.”
“Come on, ‘Mione . . . he would have been here if he wasn’t playing tomorrow.” Harry ambled over and sat on the bed beside her.
“A partner in tow, no doubt,” she muttered.
“A few actually,” Harry conceded.
This irritated her more than she could explain.
“I suppose a B-grade keeper is bound to attract his share of B-grade groupies.” She crossed her arms feeling ridiculously petulant, disappointed that ‘Old Hermione’ had chosen to rear her annoyingly judgmental head.
“It’s not his fault,” Harry responded seriously.
Hermione frowned in confusion.
“He’s always had this knack of attracting B-grade women.” He looked pointedly at Hermione.
“Fucking hell!” She slapped him on the arm before breaking into a bout of wheezy laughter. It felt rusty but good, like she hadn’t laughed in months.
“I guess I deserved that,” she sighed, wiping the corners of her eyes. “I’ve just been feeling a bit . . .”
“Bitchy?” he offered.
Hermione’s mouth dropped open.
“You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”
“Jealous?”
“Hardly . . .” she muttered, wiping her nose on her wrist. “Well . . . maybe a bit.”
“You just have to get Snape to let you out. I’ll take you to a match. We can do dinner first.”
It all sounded so wonderful . . . anything sounded wonderful compared to being stuck in Hogwarts forever.
“Well . . . actually you might be able to help me with that.”
“Yeah . . . what do you need?”
Hermione swivelled around to face him before drawing a nervous breath.
“I’m going to pick you for the Snowball waltz this evening.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“You need to pretend . . . to like me.”
He snorted. “I do like you . . . most of the time.”
“No . . . I mean like me, like me.” Her eyes widened for emphasis. "You might need to warn Ginny.”
He looked at her with intrigue before reclining back against the wall.
“Well that’s going to take quite a bit of acting on my part.” His eyes sparkled mischievously as he scratched the fine stubble on his cheek. “What’s the incentive?”
“Apart from the opportunity to help one of your dearest friends?” she asked.
“Mmmm.” He shrugged. “I need something more . . . for Ginny.”
Hermione appraised him for a few moments.
“How does revenge sound?”
His eyes searched hers, the furrow of his brow squeezing the lightning bolt in consternation.
Then his face suddenly broke into a boyish grin. “Yeah . . . I’d be up for that.”
- 8
- 9
- 10
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At the Headmaster’s Discretion *Complete*

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete