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Recondite	By : BlackMaiden Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 6535 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter franchise nor do I make any money off these stories

Chapter List
- 1-Recondite
- 1
I haven't written a story in quite some time -- years, even. After giving some considerable thought and interest in my work again, I thought it may be favorable to write a one-shot, to warm up, if you will. As this is my first fan-fiction in the Harry Potter universe, many of you may or may not know me or my works. I can not promise I will write on a full time basis, as I once have, but I will at least update my previous written stories. I, guess, it will depend on how this one turns out.
Again, as many of you may not know me as a writer, being that I usually write in the Inuyasha categories, I think it is only fair that I give warning now. I'm a shock writer and my stories usually consist of darker themes. This particular story will not be very long, but hopefully, will give me more drive to write and more stories for you to enjoy. If you are into that kind of thing, please continue reading, share your ideas and check out my other works.
-BlackMaiden
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Hermoine inhaled sharply, drawing her eyes back into attention after finding her mind wandering off into the distance, again. Focusing on the surroundings of her room, she mentally berated herself for becoming distracted. Daydreaming, unfortunately, was becoming a reoccurring problem. Her mind would become so wrapped up in possible plans and failures and she would find herself staring off into space, fiddling with her wand, wasting even more time; time she could not afford.
'This is madness! You cannot possibly do what you are thinking of doing! Do have the slightest inclination of the repercussions if you were, said, caught?' her mind offered.
This possible plan of hers was, indeed, lunacy, but in her darkest of hearts, she needed this. She needed to be around his things, his space, his words. The young woman couldn't possibly tell him what she was thinking, but she needed something of him, to quench these needs. However, regret for this decision later was inevitable. Once the want and adrenaline wore off, she would succumb to her other obsession. The witch was in turmoil, sitting in her personal prefect's bedroom, her mind in discord on which obsession was the lesser of two evils. She needed to focus.
'This is getting nowhere. You will never be able to get anything done if you cannot not even make this simple decision. You need to ground yourself before this gets out of control.' that inner voice enlightened.
Looking over to the mantle, the young woman spied a warn chest sitting next to the fireplace, beckoning her to draw closer. A sudden white-hot surge of adrenaline and fear settled in her belly. The feeling was sudden and visceral, shocking her breathing out of focus. She knew she should drop her cyclonic thoughts and go to the chest, but her mind was indecisive, at best. Hermoine shivered.
Resigning herself to the task, Hermoine rose from her seat and walked over to the off-grey chest on the floor, before lowering herself in front of it. Her thoughts grew silent, but her breathing was harsh as she opened the chest to look inside at its contents. From within, after a few minutes debate, she pulled out a small length of rope, a thick black cravat and a flogger.
This was the worst part. She also hated obsessing over the unscrupulous dark man of the dungeons, as well, but this was the only way she could stop the berating voices and pent up needs she felt. She desperately wanted Snape, wanted to own him, wanted to feel him against her, wanted all that made the double-agent who he was. Hermoine knew this was abhorrent, at best. Not only would he frown on such, but so would everyone else that she knew. This obsession with the professor, and her underlining understanding of how wrong it was, led her to make improvised self-atonement.
With her obsession of the dark man, came her compulsions. At first, she was content with lingering around him when it wouldn’t be construed as abnormal. Afterwards, she would feel guilt. These obsessions, and resulting compulsions, later drew her to feel crippling remorse. It was during these times she realized that if she isolated herself, withheld things from herself, or any other task that felt like punishment, she would feel better. This pattern intensified over time, to the point that the young witch had upgraded to more drastic measures. She wasn’t happy without Snape in her thoughts, and she wasn’t whole without the subsequent self-discipline.

Quickly, before she would regret her actions, Hermoine edged closer to the unlit fireplace, to the wood pillars surrounding the opening. Making quick work of tying her free arm and bent legs to the floating pillar, she hastily ripped up the back of her shirt, shoving the cravat into her mouth and drawing the flogger across her back - hard.
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She winced as her back arched and rubbed the wrong way on the door frame when entering the office. She had to be quick if she hoped to get back to her rooms before dinner was over. Not only could she be caught by the surely professor for breaking in but she didn’t want to confront anyone on the way back. Hermoine also wanted to doge her friends in the common room, which lead up to her rooms, to avoid any unwanted questions or conversation. She just wanted to get what she came for and get out.
The private study of Professor Snape was more opulent than expected. The space was open and warm, in its own charming way. Well, as charming as it could get, considering it was housed in an unused dungeon. The walls were painted a hunter green with dark mahogany chair rails and paneling. All else was stone. One side of the room held an oversized desk and chair, bookshelves and cabinets. Each surface held a book, parchment or other assorted potion making equipment. The other side of the room housed a chaise and two chairs set before an unlit fireplace, establishing a sitting area for entertainment, or whatever it was Severus used such a space for. Littered in this area was more parchment and books. It seemed that the professor was quite studious with his craft. Learning, research and study was written in every little detail of the room. Smirking, she could see herself in this room.
She was daring, but not nearly enough to linger and do what she really wanted to do. She wanted to stay, and do her task here. It would be more personal, more dangerous and rewarding, to do it here in the office. Maybe, if she was brave, she could crawl up onto his desk and...
'Move, you stupid bitch! Hurry up and get the vial, and get out before you sully anything else of his with your perversions!'
She winced again, having been drawn from her little fantasy and brought back to the obvious, but harsh, reality. Her heart lurched, but she quickly scanned the room, none the less. Perched between the desk and sitting areas, next to a small stand holding a Pensieve, sat a small curio cabinet with small crystal vials peeking from behind a glass door. Making haste, she quickly opened the case and searched for a date in particular. Smiling to herself when she found it, she dumped the contents into the Pensieve.
The bathroom was a wreck, water all over the floor, along with Malfoy bleeding out, Harry looking dumbstruck, and Professor Snape kneeling down to the young Slytherin's prone form. Hermoine was not interested in the interaction between the three and would not linger. All that dominated her thoughts was carefully listening to the potion's master slowly recite a counter-curse and running his wand over the open gouges littering Draco's limp body. Once she heard what was needed, she could feel herself dissolving back out of the memory.
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Returning back to Gryffindor Tower had proven more arduous than first anticipated. Just as she turned the corner in the corridor, after leaving the obfuscous man of interest‘s office, Hermoine had nearly run into Peeves, running amuck. He, fortunately, had not taken notice, being far too concerned with his latest torment to take notice of a lone student wandering the halls. Before she could sigh in relief, Peeves’ actions had drawn notice from the Bloody Baron and staff. Wishing for no more confrontations than necessary, the young woman leaned into the shadows for coverage and made her way back to her rooms with urgency.
Once behind the locked door, Hermoine collapsed. Her hands were shaking in fear and excitement, and her heart in over-drive. The young witch’s perilous behavior sated some of her infatuations; consequently, the cycle wouldn’t be complete without condemnation. The stigma of the situation eased a burden within her heart but the subsequent shame would devoir her without restitution -- such was her curse.
Hermoine burst into fitful sobs, her emotions exploding all at once.
The sobs were pitiful, snotty, sniveling yowls, full of pent up frustration and anxiety. She cried herself dry, left in a lethargic state, the mess of her tears staining her face. It was in this catatonic state that Hermoine’s thoughts were silent enough for her to focus on her next task. While basking on the floor, she could clearly hear the boisterous noise of the common room die down. It must have been getting late. In her sob fest, she had lost track of the time. She felt better, and therefore the inner blame was not as sharp.
With indifference, Hermoine rose and began casting her charms for protection, discretion, silence and blocking any other distractions that could arise.
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It was silent, so much so that even Crookshanks had sauntered off to make use of the silence; hunting. Hermoine lay on her bed staring up at the bed canopy, lost in thought. She had jolted herself awake after finding herself drifting off. Now more aware, the silence was almost deafening. Turning her head lazily towards the fireplace, gazing at the chest momentarily, Hermoine stretched and moved the aches of sleep from her body, before rising from the bed.
The room was dark, giving only faint moonlight through a window, but Hermoine could see around her space well enough. Dragging a throw blanket off a nearby chair, she unraveled the fabric and spread it across the rug near the fireplace. It was this small designated space, in which the young witch was to lay, striped naked. Once situated on the throw, Hermoine opened the warn out chest to gather out her supplies.
The warn chest was standard issue for Hogwarts, however, its contents were not. Within held a collection of punishment inducing tools and other items of dark intentions. Within the old trunk Hermoine had a collection of items once belonging or used by one patronizing head of Slytherin. She ran her hand over the top few items, touching them longingly, each one stolen with deft hands.
The cravat and button, Hermoine had happened on by dumb, sheer luck. The button had been lying on the classroom floor of the potion’s lab and the cravat had been found on a coat rack next to Snape’s desk. The stirring wand and herbs had come from class. She had even had a goblet and fork that he had dined with. Each one of these little items, unusual but enough for the magic she had planned. Lastly was the Potion’s text labeled by the Half Blood Prince and a piece of parchment with an incantation she had written earlier.
Laying out all the items, each had been imbibed with the essence of the professor of her dreams and agonies. He had touched, held and caressed each, transmitting pieces of himself. It was these items, being personal to the surely potion’s master, that would transfigure much more easily. Lifting her wand, Hermoine transfigured the relics to pieces of rounded wood. Using a fusing charm and incantation to impregnate the pieces with intent, Hermoine was able to replicate a variation of Severus Snape’s wand.
The ebony wand was flawless. Having only once seen the original wand in its entirety, Hermoine has gazed on the powerful wand. Snape had set it down on a work table to berate a student. Hermoine had memorized it, intent on etching its every detail into her mind. The replication she conjured had each of these details on its surface, as well. The dark wand was long and narrow, tapering only gently before flaring at its base with sigils and filigree meant to weave its own magic. It was a stunning piece and a shiver ran up Hermoine’s back as she ran her fingertips over each divot to the surface, before testing the weight in her hand. She was surprised by its ease of manipulation, weight and disposition. It was fairly rigid and long, but the weight surprised her, enabling her to brandish it with ease. She smirked to herself.
The tricky part, however, was yet to come. She still had to imbed a spell into the item. After many nights sneaking into the restricted section in the library, she had come across a book on how to put magic into non-magical items. It would be tricky and she would only be able to imbibe the item with a limited magic. In the case of the wand, she was going to instill a spell and counter-spell into the replica of Severus’ wand, by means of her own wand. She had practiced the incantation for transfer spells, but it had limits. Only a single spell could be used, otherwise she risked the magic not working properly in the item of choice. She could not risk harming herself.
She droned the incantation, hovering her own wand over the imposter wand, inducing her own magic into the object. Furthermore, she cited the spell and counter-spell she planned to use, into the replica. For Snape’s replica wand to work, it must be infused with pieces of himself and for the spell to work, it had to have decisive intent. Hermoine meant to use the replica to cast a spell - a spell that had been, conveniently, created by the potion’s professor himself - and she needed to be precise.
Hermoine had set aside the cravat aside and took the opportunity to gather it in her hands, drawing the fabric over the pads of her fingers. Her incantation complete, the wand replicated and laying next to her, the young witch had stripped naked, lying on the floor, admiring the cravat. Imagining how it would have looked and felt, tied around the black haired professor’s neck, it hadn't taken her long to become aroused, lost in her very own fantasy. The wand would come in handy for a particular ache.
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She was exhausted, lying in a heap on the floor, sweaty and tingly. Her breathing was finally returning to normal, and with it came peace. Allowing her mind to wander, she reminisced on scenes of her surely dark lover; her mind focusing in on a particular memory that had seen her bent over, roughly pushed across the bed in the potion master’s haste to have her. Her mind wandered over each scenario lovingly as Hermoine laid on the floor in post-orgasmic bliss.
The moment was destined to be short lived as the darker portions of her psyche took the opportunity to remind her just how disturbing her recent actions were. Feeling her heart plummet in shame, the voice was empowered, gloating in its victory to crush her happiness. This curse of cycling need and guilt was draining her, tearing every bit of goodness from her, that left her wounded and jaded. The compulsion to right the wrong with punishment left her restless, leaving her shifting on the floor uncomfortably. Hermoine knew she couldn’t escape it.
And why would she even question that? She had, indeed, implanted magic into the replica wand to be able to cast a spell with it. She had planned and placed that curse in the wand for a reason. Her mind was goading her now as she rotated the ebony wand between her fingers. She grimaced with the idea of the task, but she has cast her lot with enchantments and knew she would pay the piper tonight, in the worse way. Tonight, she would bask in the best obsession of Snape, then use his very own magic to rid the compulsions once and for all.
Positioning herself back inside of the ropes attached to the pillars on the fireplace after opening the potion‘s book to the page marked with the parchment she had written the incantation on, she leveled the older Slytherin’s wand upon herself…

“Sectumsempra”
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I left this story intentionally open and vague; otherwise, it would have been far too long of a story. I, also, wanted this to be left open for interpretation. Usually I don’t write one page one-shots and I really like these smaller stories that leave a lot of doors open but engages the reader to be able to fill in the story to their own desires. Hopefully, that’s been accomplished. I look forward to your feedback and responses to if you look forward to more.
I’ll update soon, and hopefully this will acclimate me back to writing. I must warn though, I’m deadly with the cliff hangers and hold nothing back in my longer stories….
Darkest Regards,
BlackMaiden
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