Author's Note
Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
Hi! So I had someone review that Hermione is writing her father off, and I just want to clarify that point. She feels incredibly guilty over her mum and wants to keep him safe. This is the best way to protect him, and give him a chance at a happy future where he can move on, rather than sit around worried about her. Plus, her erasing his memories and sending him away is exactly what she did to her parents in the books just a couple months after when she did it in this story. That is canon, and she did it knowing it would likely be irreversible and that she'd never see them again.
Memory Charms are very dangerous - Lockhart for example. The best Healers could do nothing for him even after years of trying. Same with the Obliviate Hermione did to Rowle and Dolohov in the cafe in Deathly Hallows - not even Voldemort could break through it. Hopefully this clears things up.
Also, sorry for the delay. This last year has been crazy work-wise for me. Updates will be back to at least once a month if all goes to plan, and no matter what, this story will get finished. Thanks for sticking with me, and I tried to make this chapter extra long for you to make up for the extended absence!
Any dialogue you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Most is changed at least a bit though to fit right.
I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.
Ch 7: Normalcy… Right, Sort Of
Hermione was still sore over Ron's tactless words and the emotional wringer his reference to her parents had put her through all night the next morning when she entered the common room. More than that, she was physically sore too.
Going to bed in such an agitated state had conjured up nightmares to fill her head, flashing behind her closed eyelids in macabre detail. Her dreams had been filled with scenes from the night her mum died, and she'd watched the dull emptiness glaze over the honey-brown eyes Hermione had inherited. She'd tossed and turned restlessly, tension making her sleepless night that much more unbearable. The few hours that hadn't managed to allude her were filled with the echoes of violence, pain, loss, and agonized screams that left her sweaty, shaken and stiff.
A small part of her wished to tell Harry everything. To unburden herself as he had regarding the way Scrimgeour wished to use him as a poster boy for the Ministry. But knowing that was just a small fraction of all he had going on made her think twice. The last thing he needed was to feel guilty or responsible for the loss of her parents on top of everything else. Between the prophecy, Dumbledore's lessons, the increasing threats, trying to pass sixth year, and still have some small semblance of a normal teenage life, Harry was juggling enough. If she added a new ball, he'd surely drop what he was already just barely managing to keep aloft.
Then all of her worries were banished when she caught sight of Neville, Seamus and Dean talking animatedly in front of the notice board. She hurried over to see what all the fuss was about – surely the twins weren't trying to recruit owl-correspondent product testers again as they had in the fall. This time she'd have no choice but to inform Mrs. Weasley if they were.
"Hermione, did you see?" Neville asked excitedly, pointing at the board.
"No, what is it?" Hermione asked, trying to peer through the gap between the boys since she wasn't tall enough to see over them.
"Apparation lessons!" Dean exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Blimey, I've been looking forward to these for ages."
Hermione had been too. Anything was preferable to flying, and she usually got sick from spinning like a top when she traveled by Floo or Portkey.
"Think we'll be able to sneak out and visit London for a night once we've got our licenses?" Seamus asked conspiratorially, a devious grin lighting his features. In that moment he reminded her strongly of Sirius Black.
"You can't Apparate in or out of Hogwarts," Hermione informed them stiffly, annoyed they still didn't know such a basic fact after all these years. "It's in Hogwarts, A History," she added pointedly, hoping in vain that they'd finally decide to pick up the book and read it.
Though, considering its selective nature, perhaps they were right to ignore it. One day she planned to rewrite the blasted thing and make sure all of the unacceptable biases were accounted for in the retelling.
"I meant this summer," Seamus muttered, pink highlighting his cheekbones and betraying the lie, though Hermione politely didn't call him on it.
Instead, she grabbed the quill to sign her name at the bottom of the list of those planning on taking lessons. Except she hesitated at the sight of the cost. Twelve Galleons. The thought of money hadn't even crossed her mind when she'd had Dumbledore send her father away. Before, she'd just written home and her parents would exchange the money she needed and owl it to her.
What was she supposed to do now?
Her father's accounts would have gone with him when he moved, and without him the trusts he'd set up for her would be inaccessible until she turned eighteen and was considered an adult in the Muggle world. He didn't even know he had a daughter that needed funds. She was too young to get a part-time Muggle job, not to mention she attended boarding school, so she was stuck in northern Scotland most of the year and couldn't even start one until after she needed the money.
It wasn't as though she could ask Snape for some Galleons, even if they were bound. It wasn't fair to expect him to foot her bills when she was little more than an unwanted inconvenience.
Maybe she could ask Dumbledore what he thought was best. He had seen to her clothing being delivered from her home the night she'd returned. Perhaps he'd planned for this sort of thing as well. For all intents and purposes she was an orphan, despite being legally considered an adult. Hogwarts probably had funds set aside to aid in cases similar to her own. Hadn't Harry mentioned that Voldemort –
"Hurry up, Hermione," Ron demanded impatiently, jostling her out of her reprieve.
Hastily, she signed her name and passed the quill to him, having not noticed his approach sooner. Ron waved off the use of her quill, and started rummaging about in his bag for his own. Hermione pressed her lips together tightly to keep from commenting.
Lavender inched closer behind Ron, the scent of her vanilla perfume floating around them like a walking advertisement of dessert – just the sort of thing to gain Ron's undivided attention. The scent was too cloyingly sweet for Hermione's liking. She preferred more musky and earthy scents herself.
Hermione watched as Lavender moved to slip her hands over Ron's eyes and purr, "Guess who, Won-Won?"
The witch had already been in the bathroom when Hermione finally gave up on trying to sleep and rolled from her bed. It was obvious that Lavender's efforts hadn't been in vain. The blonde's hair was arranged in long, loose ringlets that emphasised her pert nose and well-endowed chest. Not to mention the time she'd devoted to making sure her make-up was flawless, leaving her looking stunning and at least three years older.
Angrily, Hermione exited the common room, desperate to escape before she witnessed their demonstrative passion.
"Er, Hermione, wait up, will you?" Harry called, rushing to catch up with her, Ginny by his side.
Hermione paused, looking back in time to see Ron attempting to devour Lavender's face, and instantly regretting her decision to check on them.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" Ginny asked, having followed her line of sight to view the embracing couple, their hands wandering freely over one another in full view of everyone.
"How was your reunion with Dean, Ginny?" Hermione asked quickly, not wishing to discuss Ron a moment longer. If she did, she might cry. And she was all cried out after the buckets she'd filled over break.
"Fine," she said in a clipped tone that suggested it was anything but. Particularly in light of how she'd left him standing alone by the portrait hole to chase her down with Harry.
"Look, Hermione…er…I was just wondering…" Harry began hesitantly, trailing off uncertainly.
"He wants to know why you came back from break early," Ginny cut in, explaining for Harry.
"Lavender's got a big mouth," Hermione grumbled, pursing her lips and crossing her arms as they headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast.
Had Lavender tried to be nice over break to get Hermione to confide in her so that she'd have new gossip when the others returned? Or had it been sincere? Not that it really mattered either way. Hermione just wished her roommate had kept the news to herself so that she didn't have to answer all these questions about it and lie to her friends more than she already was.
"As we've all seen recently, but that doesn't answer the question," Ginny prodded, unwilling to let the subject drop prematurely.
"Are you all right?" Harry added, worry flashing in his emerald eyes, magnified by his round, wire-framed glasses.
"Perfectly," she promised, pasting on a false smile that didn't fool either of her friends. "Oh, very well," she huffed, making up a story as they walked, "they wanted to go skiing – you know how I am on a broom – activities like that just aren't for me. Particularly, when I could be here instead, using the library without anyone bothering me. I got loads of studying done. End of term exams are only a few months away, you know."
"I figured it was something like that," Harry said, biting back a smile, though Ginny didn't look entirely convinced.
Deciding she needed to redirect the conversation before Ginny started in on her again, Hermione asked, "Don't you usually have breakfast with Dean?"
"He's put out that I didn't write more over break. What did he think I was going to do, spend all day writing letters?" Ginny asked mulishly, a scowl contorting her face and wrinkling her brow.
"How many did you send?" Hermione inquired, though truthfully, she wanted to ask why Ginny was even wasting her time when it was obvious her heart wasn't in the relationship anymore.
Why be with someone you didn't truly love when you had the choice? Hermione would have dearly loved having the freedom to choose, but she was past that point.
I will never love you.
Those words echoed down the hall. Lonely ghosts that hinted at something tragic. Snape had had his heart broken before. It was the only explanation. Who had she been? Who had managed to pierce the impenetrable walls protecting the enigmatic man? It seemed an impossible feat, but apparently someone had managed it. Managed, only to leave an indelible mark behind.
Hermione didn't need Snape to love her. It was enough to have the consideration he was showing her. For now. More so, she dearly wished to discover more of the mystery surrounding the man she was unquestionably, and permanently bound to.
Even if he insisted it wouldn't be for much longer.
"Two," Ginny muttered, only barely audible, but enough to recall Hermione to the conversation they'd been having. "There was a lot going on at the Burrow, and I don't have my own owl," Ginny added defensively.
"I'll bet," Hermione allowed, swallowing back the rest of her retort.
Harry had his head ducked, but it was easy to see his secret smile. She'd bet Ginny made time to talk to him every day.
Ron materialized a second later looking rumpled and thoroughly pleased with himself. Was that lipstick smeared on his face and neck? He puffed out his chest proudly when Harry gave him a once over.
"That's a good shade for you, Ron," Ginny quipped, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.
"Bugger off, she was just making up for lost time," Ron announced, scrubbing at his face. It only managed to spread the deep, wine-red color further across his chin.
"Right," Hermione said stiffly, disgusted with his smugness.
Hurrying forward, she rushed to catch up with Neville, anxious to get out of earshot before Ron started bragging about what they'd just done together. For Harry's sake she would just ignore Ron. Better to continue the icy silence they'd begun before break started – ever since he'd first snogged Lavender, actually – than it was to bicker like bratty children the way they always inevitably seemed to.
"You don't think you could help me with Apparation, do you?" Neville asked worriedly. Hermione caught a glimpse of the old, bumbling Neville as he asked. Rarely this year had she seen the uncertain, self-conscious boy he'd been prior to participating in the DA and fighting Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries. "I just know I'll be shite at it."
"Don't say that, Neville," Hermione urged, willing him to be more confident. "You'll be fine. You just need to believe in yourself. But, yes, once I figure it out for myself I will help you."
"You're worried about it too?" Neville asked, sounding bowled over with shock at the prospect.
At least he seemed to forget that she was Muggle-born, and therefore unfamiliar with a number of aspects of magic. Concepts like Apparation were so foreign to her still. Without the countless books she read, she doubted she'd ever master her fear of the unknown enough to even try many of the spells they'd learned over the years. Research made it all less intimidating.
Well, that and her constant drive to be the best.
Her competitive nature wouldn't allow her to not succeed in everything she attempted. Nor would it allow her to give up just because something was difficult or unexpectedly challenging.
"Of course I am. I've never tried it before," Hermione admitted frankly, hoping that her uncertainty would lessen some of Neville's.
"You always master everything you try," Neville said glumly, and Hermione couldn't help feeling a twitch of pride at having her accomplishments noted, despite his self-doubt.
"Thanks, but I think…"
Hermione broke off when she glanced up from the seat she'd taken at the Gryffindor table to find Malfoy staring at her intently. Crabbe and Goyle were on either side of him, as usual, and they were each smirking evilly and whispering to each other across their friend as they stole glances at her as well.
"Hermione? You all right?" Neville asked, frowning.
"Hmm? Oh, yes," she said absently, cold sweat breaking out across her brow.
A flash of Lucius's deranged grin superimposed itself on his son, causing a brief tremble to rock Hermione's slight frame. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the image away, but that night was ready, just waiting to play out behind her eyelids like a hazy red afterimage. Lucius sadistically raping the screaming Muggle woman. His genuine pleasure in debating which among them would get the "Slytherin gift". His casual indifference to his son's horror at witnessing the depths of his depravity.
Her eyes snapped open, despite her being unprepared to deal with reality yet. Neither the past nor the present were very appealing, but at least seeing the son was less frightening than the father. At least with Malfoy, she'd successfully dealt with him before. A particular incident involving a punch came to mind.
For all she'd dreaded seeing Malfoy again, she'd not thought to consider how she'd feel if he or the other two boys' fathers told Malfoy's little bodyguards about what had happened to her over break. It was mortifying to have three of her fellow classmates knowing she'd been bound by a sexual curse to their professor. For them to believe he forced himself on her whenever he wished to, or that he had her desperate and pleading for his cock on a regular basis.
The three continued to watch her all throughout the meal. Occasionally, one or the other would snicker at some comment, but Malfoy at least remained largely impassive. Gone was the horrified boy she'd seen in London. This version of Malfoy was remote and calculating. A far more dangerous prospect.
For the life of her, Hermione couldn't determine what he was thinking or planning to do with the damaging information he possessed.
Worse, if such a thing were even possible, Malfoy's attention had the unintended consequence of reminding her that she had double Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon with the Slytherins. Two whole hours in a room with Snape and Malfoy.
The Fates truly hated her.
How would Snape act around her now? Would he continue calling her out just to belittle her and mock her attempts to prove her cleverness as he typically did? Would he sneer at her or allow Malfoy to make crude references to the events that transpired between them to maintain his cover? Either possibility seemed as dreadful as the other.
Her mind was in such a tailspin that she didn't take a single note during her Ancient Runes class for the first time ever. Instead, she spent the whole period debating which would be worse, how Snape treated her, or if she blushed and stammered when called upon – a sure indication that she was trying and failing to hide their altered "relationship".
It quickly became apparent that her worries had been unfounded, and the issue never came up during Defense. Snape ignored her entirely. It was a relief, and actually allowed her to focus on the lesson.
In fact, he ignored everyone in her vicinity as well. Harry included.
"I think that might be the first lesson Snape didn't single me out," Harry said wonderingly after class.
"Maybe he finally got laid over break," Crabbe said thickly from behind them. He'd been wedged in an alcove by the bust of Helga Hufflepuff waiting for their exit since he'd not earned high enough marks to take the class for himself.
Hermione spun, horrified at the dangerous jest he'd made in response to hearing their comment. Crabbe had practically told Harry everything! Well, not really. But hinting and skirting the truth was just as bad!
"Ew, now that's a disgusting thought," Harry said, throwing a grimace back at the classroom they'd just exited.
"Right," Hermione squeaked, voice strained thinner than the weakest tea.
"Let's go, Crabbe. We have that project we need to work on," Malfoy ordered, snagging Crabbe's arm and tugging him bodily away.
Why had Malfoy saved her? What were his motives?
"Not to mention an image I never wanted in my head," Ron added, shaking his head roughly as though he could physically dislodge his thoughts like an annoying fly before moving to stand on the other side of Harry, as far away from her as he could get in the narrow stone corridor.
"Nevermind that. Did you hear Malfoy mention something about a project?" Harry asked, watching the three Slytherins' departing backs. "I know they're up to something. I've been saying –"
"Leave it alone, Harry. They probably just meant homework for another class," Hermione insisted wearily, picking up the pace to catch up to Ernie, whom she had Arithmancy with, so she wouldn't have to come up with any more lies just then.
For three days Hermione and Ron refused to acknowledge each other. Harry rather reluctantly acted as a go between. This involved sitting between them in classes and alternating who he was speaking to while Hermione and Ron pretended the other didn't exist. It felt unbelievably silly to her, so after breakfast on Friday, Hermione caved to Harry's constant pleading that she mend the rift between them – despite still being furious with how insensitive Ron could be more often than not.
"How did Quidditch practice go last night?" she asked timidly.
"Harry, do you hear something?" Ron called, looking around dramatically and pretending he couldn't see her sitting right beside him on the Gryffindor bench.
"Ron, enough," Hermione commanded, slamming her goblet down hard enough to send pumpkin juice sloshing over the rim. The sticky drops landed on the back of her hand, and Ron smirked victoriously when she moved to wipe them off and mop up the mess she'd inadvertently made.
"Not that you believe I'm any good without the help of a potion, but it was smashing good," Ron finally replied.
Hermione took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm and not rise to his baiting.
"I'm sorry about that," she began, grinding her teeth a moment before continuing, "you know I think you're good. I wasn't -"
"If you'd just have apologized before Christmas, I'd have invited you to the Burrow so you wouldn't have stayed here all alone," Ron added petulantly, unwilling to let go of how she'd doubted his ability.
More likely, he was projecting his own insecurities, and she just made for a better target to unleash his temper on. Judging from the satisfied air surrounding his inflated head, she was correct in her assumption.
Hermione watched Ron shovel a heaping spoonful of eggs into his mouth then take an overly large bite of toast that somehow miraculously managed to fit into his cavernous mouth, before he began chewing with more vigor than necessary. All she wanted to do right then was knock the slice of toast from his hand or smash his face into his plate.
"I did apologize - repeatedly!" she snapped, the high tone of her voice drawing the unwanted attention of everyone sitting nearby.
It wasn't her fault that Harry had tricked her into believing he was helping Ron cheat with the Felix Felicis Potion! She hadn't wanted to see Ron get in trouble for breaking the rules, which would have inevitably gotten him kicked off the team. He loved Quidditch. She hadn't wanted him to lose that. Not to mention the fact that cheating was wrong. Always. Why did the boys always have to get so mad at her for trying to do the right thing?
"Only because I started going with Lavender, and you saw how wrong you were about me," he insisted, bits of his meal flying across the table in a disgusting show as he spoke.
It was such an unfair statement that for a moment all she could do was sputter and stare. He'd not given her a chance to apologize before he'd started snogging Lavender. Worse, he'd blamed her entirely for doubting him, while Harry had been deemed clever for helping him get past his mental block.
Now he was basically accusing her of being jealous! Of course she had been, but right then she was just plain furious, and couldn't for the life of her remember why she'd fancied Ron in the first place.
"Not everything is about you, Ronald!" she raged, gathering her books and storming from the Great Hall in a well deserved snit. He was such an utter arse sometimes!
When she arrived in Defense just before the bell rang, it was to find Ron already there and glaring at her with the only empty seat right beside him. So much for Harry acting as a buffer. In fact, the Brutus gave her a pointed look and mouthed, 'Try again – please'.
Furious, Hermione slammed her books down, taking an almost savage glee in almost catching Ron's fingers in the process.
"Oi! Watch it, you!" he hollered, scooting his chair as far away from her as physically possible. "Just cause you know I'm right, doesn't –"
"Right?" Hermione demanded shrilly, straining to control her temper as Snape glared at her from the front of the room. The darkness of his chastising glare captured her attention instantly.
It was the first time he'd acknowledged her in any way since term started, and she could feel the spell coming to life within her with a vengeance. A tendril of warmth unfurrowed low in her belly, stirring a now familiar feeling of desire that completely overshadowed what she was sure would have been a significant amount of shame for having behaved so childishly only seconds earlier.
"Oh!" she gasped loudly, gripping her quill so tightly it snapped in half.
Oh no. Not now.
Merlin, why did this have to happen now? It was her first class of the day. If this time was anything like the previous, she'd be a wreck if she had to wait hours before they could meet discreetly.
"See. You can't even –"
But Ron's retort was cut off again, this time by Snape.
"Mr. Weasley," he drawled dangerously, prowling forward until he was in the center of the room and all attention was focused on him. "Do keep your personal drama out of my classroom. If you cannot control yourself, I will be forced to give you a detention."
Without another word he began class, instructing them to partner up for more practice on nonverbal spells. His voice was the rich heat of whiskey, igniting her insides and stroking teasingly against her senses, toying with her.
Hermione did her best to ignore the effects of the spell as she paired with Neville.
Barely five minutes had passed when she heard Ron's petulant voice carrying over from where he was goofing off with Harry. "Notice how the teacher's pet didn't get in trouble, and she was the one bloody screaming."
Hermione huffed and spun around to tell him off again, fed up with his passive aggressive antics and ridiculously unfounded accusations. Except Neville finally managed to hit her with a nonverbal Tripping Jinx that sent her stumbling directly into Snape.
He caught her easily, and she clutched at the front of his robes to remain upright and keep from doing something inexcusably stupid.
"O-oh, no. S-s-sorry," she stuttered, trembling as the effects of the spell intensified. What had merely been mildly distracting, was suddenly flaying her insides with a burning whip and making her legs quiver. Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat had gone bone dry as she gasped, "Professor."
Alarm flashed in his onyx eyes as he untangled her hands from his robes, squeezing them briefly in warning to control herself. The brush of skin-to-skin contact dragged a distressed whimper from her parched throat. Luckily, the room was so noisy and crowded that their interaction went unnoticed.
Snape retreated to the far side of the room so quickly that he practically flew. The students, jinxes, curses, hexes and distance did little to reduce her awareness of the man. Her heart pounded steadily in her ears, drumming a staccato beat that urged her feet to go to him immediately.
Even from across the room she could feel him watching her carefully. Hesitantly, she met his dark chocolate gaze, dangerous and commanding. It screamed a warning at her, loud enough to penetrate the sea of lust she was drowning in. Nodding stiffly, Hermione braced herself, determined not to display any outward sign of her internal struggle.
The rest of the lesson was a disaster. Hermione was completely unable to focus, and only barely managed to avoid most of Neville's spells while failing to produce any of her own. Tension coiled her muscles into rigid knots as she fought the instinct to throw herself on Snape. She warred against the unceasing need driving her to seek the release only he could provide. More than that, her body begged for it. Anything to prevent the pain she'd felt that night over break. The pain that was already trying to double her over.
They'd gone too long between touching or interacting, and the spell was not impressed. It had been just over a week, and she remembered reading something…something…
Blast!
She couldn't concentrate well enough to remember what the book he'd lent her had said. And she always remembered what she read.
"Are you feeling all right?" Neville finally asked when Snape commanded that they resume their seats. "You're really flushed."
"Yes. Maybe. I…I'm not feeling myself right now," she finally muttered, sinking back in her chair to hear what their homework for the day was.
As Snape spoke, Hermione felt desire pooling between her legs, drenching her panties. She was drunk on the sound of his whiskey-rich words, their decadence like satin sliding against her most intimate parts. Each word caused her breaths to shallow and heat to infuse her face. It was impossible to tear her gaze away from the man, though he'd yet to look at her again as he prowled the room.
It wasn't until he passed the Slytherin table Malfoy was sitting at that any semblance of reason returned. And it only did then because the blond boy was glancing knowingly between her and Snape.
Comprehension dawned as she realized what a mess she must be for him to recognize that the spell currently had her in its thrall. It was too much. She couldn't. Not for another second.
Mortified, Hermione tried to grab her books, planning to run to the lavatory before she humiliated herself, but ended up accidentally knocking them off the desk with a booming thud that silenced Snape and froze Hermione in place like so much ice.
The whole class remained quiet, waiting for Snape's infamous temper to eviscerate the know-it-all bookworm.
"Miss Granger, since this is the second time you have insisted on disrupting my class, you may remain behind to hear the details of the detention you have just earned yourself," Snape informed her carefully, emotions so tightly contained behind a thin wall of glass that a feather could easily shatter it.
"Y-yes, Sir," she whispered, ready to cry. So much for having run out of tears over break.
"Class dismissed," he snapped, glaring at the assembled group with such ferocity that they fled for the door in a stampede despite there still being close to five minutes remaining.
The instant the door slammed shut behind the last student Hermione was up and racing towards Snape, launching herself forward, desperate for his touch.
He caught her hips in his iron grip and with a swift turn, had her positioned on the edge of his desk. Hands urged her legs further apart, and Snape bent to kneel between her newly splade thighs.
"Why?" she asked, realizing he meant to pleasure her with his mouth rather than shag her.
"There isn't time for more. My next class will be here in less than fifteen minutes," he growled, shoving her skirt up and tugging her sodden panties down to her ankles.
"You know -"
"Yes, come to my room tonight. We may be able to stave off the charm now before it gets its claws in," he commanded, gently running his hands up the inside of her legs, soothing her.
Something about his statement struck her, but any hope of deciphering hidden meaning was gone as his hooked nose brushed her clit in a fleeting, almost imagined caress. The faint contact caused her back to arch, and Hermione tried to lift her hips, frantic for more pressure against her aching, throbbing center.
The soft strokes stopped, and his fingers gripped her thighs, squeezing gently to keep her in place as his mouth fastened directly over the little bundle of nerves. His tongue danced, teasing licks and flicking patterns of figure eights.
"Bloody hell," Hermione gasped, running her hands over herself because her body longed to be touched. Filled. Satisfied.
More. All of her cried out for more.
"Oh, please, Snape," she begged, trying to press closer though his hands had turned to bands of steel restraining her.
"Stay quiet or I'll silence you," he muttered, the vibrations of his husky voice humming against her, adding an interesting new dynamic to his skilled attentions.
She immediately complied with his command, biting her lip to muffle the needy sounds emanating from deep in her throat.
She'd barely palmed the swells of her breasts when their eyes met. The knowledge that he was watching had her tugging the fabric apart, two buttons popping free in the process, to reveal one globe for him to see, knowing how much he always fixated on her breasts when they were intimate.
Sparks ignited in his eyes at her offering, and combined with the tiniest nip he gave her, Hermione shattered like so much glass.
Quivers wracked her body, relief and bliss mingling to surge through her veins. It satiated the spell and provided her with a sudden, instant release of all the tension she'd been steadily building all week from her dealings with Ron.
Sanity returned in time for her to realize he hadn't stopped running his tongue up and down the length of her, softly stroking her from opening to clit, his large nose continuing to bump the bundle of nerves in an enticing way with each journey. His gaze was still fixed on the hand she had idly massaging her breast.
Feeling bold, she tweaked her nipple, lightly, and was rewarded with an extra lashing over her nub on his next pass. Enjoying the sensation and the way a string seemed tied between the two places, connecting them, she pinched and twisted the peak a little harder, gasping at the heat and pulses it caused in her core.
Snape responded by running his hands over her thighs, inching closer and closer to the apex. When he looked up at her, she whimpered.
The sound spurred him on, and he dipped first one, then two fingers into her tight sheath. Immediately, Hermione clenched down on him, losing herself in the way he pumped them in and out. And all the while his tongue worked her clit, manipulating and sucking on the tiny bud.
His fingers weren't near enough. His length was thicker than the two digits and she wished he was filling her with his cock instead. Regardless, she reveled in the way he played her body, drawing delicious notes of pleasure that sung through the air like the most moving song any instrument had ever produced.
After the reality of their altered situation set in, Hermione had not imagined that she would like his infamously barbed tongue so close to such a delicate place on her body. Part of her inexperienced and self-conscious mind had worried that he'd criticise her, but the reality was actually quite wonderful.
With a deliberate curl of his fingers, she crested, basking in the lightness that the wave washing over her left her feeling. The second climax had been slower, but much more enjoyable.
A soft caress tickled her inner thighs as he eased back and rose to his feet. Snape raked his eyes over her in a way he never had before. He looked hungry, and Hermione couldn't say for certain if he was feeling the effects of the spell or not.
Hermione inhaled sharply.
Snape watched her chest rise and fall, her exposed breast shifting slightly. But then he blinked, quickly glancing around the room.
All at once he staggered back, collapsing into his desk chair and burying his face in his hands.
"Please go," he requested in a strangled plea.
It was appallingly easy to understand what he'd seen when he'd looked her over and what the problem was. A student that he'd just ravished in his classroom.
Hermione wished to tell him that he'd done nothing wrong. It had been necessary. The spell demanded it. But they were both aware that he'd consciously decided to continue after satiating the curse's requirements.
And she'd let him. Hell, she'd nearly begged for him to keep going, if not with words, then certainly by her actions.
Silently, Hermione eased off the desk, wobbling on her rubbery legs, and put her clothes to rights before exiting the room.
Why had he continued? Had he lost himself in the moment, or was it something else?
She doubted very much that it had anything at all to do with her specifically.
By the time Hermione had composed herself enough to enter Charms – she'd needed to splash her face with cool water several times – class had already begun. She watched her feet as she walked, letting her wild curls shield her pink cheeks, and tried not to draw any attention to herself, yet failed miserably. Every student stared at her incredulously. Hermione Granger never got in trouble and was never late to class. Now she'd done both in one day. One would think the world was ending given the way they were whispering about her.
Merlin, and they didn't even know the truth behind why she was late!
That period they were working on conjuring a steady stream of water, which she had already been able to do since the previous year. She partnered with Hannah Abbot to keep Harry from asking her any questions about what Snape had said to her, and she tried to ignore the conversation he was having with Ron, she really did, but when Ron suggested that Harry just ask Slughorn straight out that afternoon after they had Potions, she couldn't contain a derisive snort.
Harry had told both her and Ron about his meeting with Dumbledore where he'd learned about the false memory Slughorn had provided Dumbledore with regarding Voldemort and something called Horcruxes. It was completely ridiculous to think Harry could simply ask for the real memory and the man would hand it over. If it were that easy, Dumbledore wouldn't have needed Harry's help to get it.
The tips of Ron's ear went bright red, making it clear he'd heard her disparaging noise. With a nasty look at her, he began mocking the way she always answered all of the professors' questions. Everyone around him laughed, and even Harry released a snicker before he caught sight of her face and attempted to mask his amusement.
Thrilled by the reactions he was getting, Ron kept it up, mimicking and exaggerating all of the things she did that she'd never before thought to be self-conscious about – not when she had Ron and Harry's friendship. They provided a buffer for her. No one judged her with them sticking by her, at least not outwardly. Besides, as long as they didn't mind or see anything wrong with her personality, why should she care what others thought? Except, apparently, they did mind. And now Ron was making fun of things she did all the time.
Did they only put up with her because they needed her in order to pass their classes or stay alive? She'd never even considered it, but watching Ron, it was difficult not to at least examine the possibility.
Professor Flitwick didn't even notice anything was happening. That was the problem with a busy classroom that lent itself to private discussions more often than not. As a result, the class period became the "Ronald Weasley Show", much to her dismay.
Tears burned the back of her eyes, and she slumped in her seat for the remainder of the period, trying not to burst into tears in front of her classmates. Ron could be so blasted cruel! Anytime he felt slighted or ignored, he lashed out. And his sense of humor was as dark as Fred's with twice as many sharp edges honed for drawing blood. A stiletto blade designed for slipping right between the ribs to nick the heart of a person.
The instant the bell rang she raced for the lavatory, barricading herself in a stall then releasing all of the pent up emotion she'd accumulated that day just as she planned before Snape had kept her after class. It all came out. Everything from the unwanted and overwhelming desire she'd felt for Snape that had left her aching and throbbing and spent in less than an hour, to the stress of the constant bickering with Ron and the way he left her feeling insecure and small.
Lunch had ended before she finally got a handle on herself and exited, determined to have a better experience in Potions and return to her previous position of ignoring Ron altogether.
Given the fragile state of her psyche, the very last thing she wanted was to end up face-to-face with Malfoy. Yet that was where she was, because he was waiting for her in the hall.
"My father wishes me to drive a wedge between Potter and his friends. Namely you," he announced coolly, expression so bland that it could have been carved from marble. His unnatural paleness gave credence to the idea that he actually was little more than unfeeling, unrelenting stone.
"Mission accomplished, though he needn't involve you to see it happen," she spat bitterly.
"You haven't told Potter what happened that night," he said slowly, probing her.
"Of course not," she hissed, appalled by the very notion of doing any such thing.
"Any of it?" Malfoy continued, watching her intently.
Then it clicked. He was worried that she'd revealed his secret. More like confirmed Harry's suspicions. She really did need to discuss that with Snape, and get his opinion on the matter.
"You mean that he's right, and that you are a Death Eater," Hermione stated bluntly, fed up with pretending and talking around the real issue. "No, I didn't."
"Let's keep it that way," Malfoy said, stepping closer so that he towered over her in a show of intimidation.
Glaring at him, and refusing to cower in fear the way others did when he bullied them, she demanded in a clipped voice, "Why should I keep your secret?"
"Because so long as you do…I won't tell Potter that you're sleeping with Professor Snape," Malfoy replied smoothly, as though he'd practiced the words before delivering his threat.
She inhaled sharply, unable to find her voice, and not knowing what she'd say even if she did. A satisfied smile worked its way across Malfoy's face, and he gave her a sharp nod. Though Hermione thought she caught a flash of something else lurking behind his eyes just before he left her standing alone in the hall.
After dinner, Hermione had tried to make her way down to Snape's rooms, but there had been a group of third years loitering in the hallway leading to his door, so she'd been forced to return to her common room to wait.
Part of her could hardly believe she was actually looking forward to spending some time with the surly man, but between how good she knew he'd make her feel – unapologetically at that – and the questions that were plaguing her, the minutes were ticking by far too slowly for her liking as she tried to read a book on Dark objects.
So far she'd had no luck finding any reference to Horcruxes in the main part of the library, and she'd spent five hours searching the previous night after dinner while Harry had first been at Quidditch then later busy playing chess with Ron.
She had a few books she'd ordered from Flourish and Blotts over the years when it became apparent that being friends with Harry would mean fighting Dark wizards, and she was currently searching through the ones she usually kept stashed in her trunk. Eventually, she'd have to ask Dumbledore what he did with the ones that were still at her parents' house. Her questions for the man were piling up, but he hadn't been seen around the castle since his meeting with Harry, so she wasn't sure when she'd be able to approach him with any of them.
Less than an hour before curfew Ginny found her skimming a chapter on famous cursed Muggle artifacts. The redhead threw herself down on the sofa beside Hermione, all crossed arms and fierce scowl like some sort of miniaturised tiger.
"Problem?" Hermione inquired, shutting the book she'd been steadily losing interest in as she waited for Ron and Harry to head upstairs so that they wouldn't question where she was going so late.
Well, Harry at least would ask. Or worse, spy on her with the Marauder's Map. The last thing she needed was for him to see where she intended to spend her evening.
"Apparently I'm not doting enough for Dean's liking," Ginny said dryly, shooting daggers at where the boy in question sat slumped in a corner talking anxiously to Seamus. Every few seconds he'd glance over mournfully or throw a bit of crumpled parchment into the crackling fire.
"I see," Hermione said carefully, meeting her friend's expectant gaze.
After the day she'd had, she felt vastly under qualified to be offering relationship advice. Yet Ginny seemed determined to seek her counsel on the matter.
"What does he expect me to do – follow him around all day and hang on his every word?" Ginny asked sarcastically, a caustic edge sharpening her words.
A small fluttering filled Hermione's stomach, each beat brushing lightly against her insides, teasingly, slowly awakening a giddy anticipation for the man she was bound to.
Shifting, and trying to dampen or contain the butterflies signaling the event to come, Hermione knowingly replied, "I very much doubt he wants all that."
"It sure seems that way to me," Ginny griped, pursing her lips and twisting so that she couldn't see Dean anymore.
"Is it really that, or is he reacting because he knows Harry fancies you too, and he's afraid you might throw him over for the "Chosen One"?"
"Harry doesn't feel that way about me. We're just friends because of Ron and all the time he spends at the Burrow," Ginny said quickly, unwilling to allow herself to believe what she'd wanted for ages might finally be happening.
"I think we both know that isn't true," Hermione said gently. She was happy for her friend.
Ginny was perfect for Harry. Strong-willed enough to call him out when he was in a temper or being reckless. Loyal enough to stand by him regardless of the danger or consequences. Loving enough to give him the affection he carved after a lifetime of neglect. And wise enough to see past the famous name to the truth of the wizard, who at his core, was simply Harry – flaws and all.
"What if we try and Harry realizes there's nothing special about me, after all? What if he changes his mind?" Ginny asked quietly, repeating the fears she'd confessed to Hermione several times over the last two years.
"You won't know if you never try. But you shouldn't use Dean in the meantime," Hermione suggested.
"I do like Dean," Ginny insisted. Sighing, she more frankly admitted, "Or I did until he started being all overbearing."
A jolt shot through her core at the word overbearing. Snape had certainly been that at times with her. Except Hermione didn't consider it a problem. It challenged her to be more creative in their conversations. And when he did it while they were feeling the effects of the spell, it heightened her senses and drove her a little wild.
That afternoon when he'd arranged her on his desk and yanked her underwear off without so much as a word, he'd left her breathless. Just remembering it left her slick and ready for him quite apart from the effects of the spell.
"Do what feels right,"Hermione said, wondering what Snape would do to her when she finally managed to get there. He had to be feeling the effects by then as well. "Or, better yet, be brave. Make the first move. It'd probably be a relief for Harry considering he's likely worried about how Ron will react."
"You're one to talk about being brave," Ginny retorted suddenly.
A crawling, itching sensation had begun creeping up and down her arms just beneath the skin. It left her restless and needy, but was still relatively easy to ignore.
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, blinking slowly as she tried to follow Ginny's line of thought rather than linger on thoughts of Snape steadily pumping his fingers into her slick core.
"Since we were speaking of Ron," Ginny prompted, studying Hermione closely.
"I don't know what you mean," she replied crisply, disliking the new topic of conversation.
"Sure you don't," Ginny replied sarcastically, snorting quietly and rolling her eyes. "He's only with Lavender because he isn't sure how you feel, and he's scared."
"He knew," she said shortly. At Ginny's raised ginger eyebrow, Hermione elaborated, "I asked him to be my date to Slughorn's Christmas party. His reaction was to go and snog the first pretty witch willing to fawn all over him. I couldn't have made my feelings for him clearer if I'd tried. It was Ron that decided I wasn't good enough for him."
It would probably always be like that with Ron. He wasn't very good at communicating, and he often jumped to conclusions – usually without a shred of evidence to support them. Typically, his reactions were all a result of his desire to prove himself just as good, if not better, than his brothers or Harry.
His perpetual insecurities would likely poison things between them if they had tried to be together. Ron needed constant reassurance, and that wasn't something Hermione was willing to do. She didn't want to have what she said second-guessed. She didn't want to make someone else the center of her world while putting all of her interests and ambitions on the back-burner. She was too independent for that.
Despite the realization that a relationship with Ron would have been both mentally and emotionally exhausting, not to mention toxic, she still wished things had been different so they could have at least tried.
Because knowing things probably wouldn't have worked out didn't make her feelings vanish.
"I didn't know about that," Ginny said softly, regret pinching her brow. While the shifting flames from the firelight made her freckles appear to be a light dusting of cinnamon powder across her cheeks and nose. "I'm always told you he was a bloody arse, and this certainly confirms that, but I think he really is just scared. What with you being so much smarter and Harry so much more famous."
"As if any of that ever mattered to me," Hermione said, the words barely covering the core of steel that was her will. "After the way he's been acting, I'm starting to think it was for the best."
They'd never before managed to go more than a few weeks having civil conversations. Always, their interactions inevitably devolved into arguments or repetitive talk of Quidditch that held no interest for her.
And now Snape was in the picture for better or worse.
"I know my brother can be immature at times, but you're not giving up on him already, are you?" Ginny asked seriously, shock making her luminous eyes larger than normal in her petite face.
"Ginny, I'm utterly sick and tired of being his punching bag. There are bigger things happening, and he can't pull his head out of his arse long enough to grow up," Hermione said flatly, pressing her lips together tightly.
She was slightly surprised by the truth of what she was saying. Ron was a missed opportunity, and a chapter of life that needed to be closed. Permanently. Regardless of her binding with Snape.
Snape.
Just thinking about him had caused a persistent tugging to begin behind her navel, much as it had before. She couldn't wait any longer. Snape needed her. More, she wanted to go. To get lost, even for a few minutes, in feeling rather than analyzing everything.
"I need to run to the library," Hermione announced, hopping up and startling Ginny.
"It's nearly curfew, Hermione!"
"Guess being friends with Harry has rubbed off on me," she tried, shrugging carelessly. Already her mind was occupied with what was to come in the next hour.
"Hermione!" Ginny gasped, thoroughly exasperated by the evasive jest.
"Oh, very well. Snape gave me a detention today – because of what Ron did, mind you – so I need to work ahead. I've only just realized I never grabbed the book on magical pollen for my Herbology paper," she supplied, thinking up the excuse on the spot. She was getting better at it. She'd have to if she wanted to avoid them figuring things out this year. "I need to start it before bed if I'm to finish it in time."
Absently, Hermione threw a wave over her shoulder when Ginny said, "Best be quick about it or you might end up with two detentions instead of one!"
Final Author's Note
I know there wasn't a ton of Snape/Granger in this chapter – that's just how it worked out with her adjusting to her new normal, but the next chapter will focus primarily on them, so yay! Also, I know the writing isn't quite what it was. I'm a bit out of practice, but I should be back in the swing of it by the next chapter.