The Lemon Tree Chapter 6: Revenge, a harry potter fanfic

For Mrs. Wilson, who requested this duo.

Revenge: Snape/Hermione

"Fucking arseholes," Hermione yelled as she pushed one of the chairs in her office over. "Dick heads!" Using her wand, she shoved the chair into the bookcase. "Cock muffins!"

She stopped, certain she'd heard a deep growl of a voice. A voice she recognized immediately.

Hands on her hips, she stomped into the great hallway just outside her office, where a portrait of none other than Severus Snape hung. He stood there, glaring at her, his face utterly impassive.

"Got something to say, Professor?"

He shook his head lightly. "I was just remarking on your creative and… filthy language. The disgusting sort I'd deduct fifty points over."

"Oh, Christ." Hermione snorted. "I don't know why I even asked." She walked back into her office and shrunk and packed all her belongings into her undetectably-enlarged purse.

She whizzed past the portrait of Snape where he watched with a smirk on his face. She halted and took several long strides backwards, stopping right in front of him.

"What seems to be the matter, Ms. Granger?" There wasn't an ounce of actual concern in his tone.

"I got sacked, Professor. Didn't you hear? Oh, that's right. You spend ALL YOUR BLOODY TIME ELSEWHERE and only come when I'm around. So when I mention you to ANYONE, they think I'm bloody mad! 'Cause for some ungodly reason you've decided that your company is reserved for TORTURING ME!"

Snape snarled. "I suppose I should thank whomever gave you the boot, Granger. Now I don't have to hear the insufferable monologues you insist on giving with your bloody office door wide open."

Hermione seethed. Where the hell did he get off…

"No," she said, whipping her wand out.

Snape's eyes widened ever so slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Gemino," she muttered, and in her hands, she held a painting of an empty living room— what everyone else but her got the pleasure of seeing when they gazed upon the Professor's portrait.

"You think this is it, do you? That you just get to torture me until I run off? I don't think so, Professor." She pulled his frame containing his stammering face off and shrunk it, shoving it into her bag. In its place, she hung the forged painting.

"Now, Professor," she said, a wicked smile upon her face. "I get revenge."

She, of course, had no idea how she'd manage such a thing as revenge. Though apparently all she'd have to do was talk to herself— otherwise known as "perform" an "insufferable monologue"- and that'd be enough.

She sighed. Talking to myself, she thought. It's not like she had anything better to do, anyway. With Harry, Ron and Gin all busy with their young families, she was lucky to see them once a month. Her work had held basically her full attention for seven years. And now it was pulled from under her, leaving her clinging to… this portrait of Snape? She snorted. Maybe she was going mad, after all.

Mad or not, she placed him right next to her portrait of Crookshanks. Snape was long gone by then, probably out pouting, she thought. She knew as soon as he discovered he was on par with her beloved half-Kneazle, he'd have some choice words. Maybe even some filthy and creative language.

"How you doing, Crooks," she said. The orange feline purred in response and rubbed his tail against his side of the painting. Hermione felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. "I miss you, too. I wish we could just cuddle like the old days."

Christ, she thought, plopping on the sofa, facing the portraits. I'm so bloody pathetic.

"Where have you put me, Ms Granger?" Snape finally made an appearance the next morning, just as Hermione curled up with a cup of coffee on her sofa.

"You're in my home," she answered, not looking up from the Prophet. She'd deliberately avoided the headlines— no doubt there was something about Hermione's work troubles— and she focused, instead, on the Classifieds.

"May I remind you, Ms. Granger, this, right here, is theft. Certainly the last thing your… reputation... needs is an arrest. Or a stint in Azkaban."

Hermione sighed. "What? Are you going to tell on me?"

Snape drew his mouth in a firm, thin line.

"You could help me find a new job. After all, you're the bloody reason I was fired in the first place."

Snape snorted. "Already delusional in your job-deprived boredom, Ms. Granger?"

"You're the one who put all those ideas in my head. Of what I could and couldn't achieve."

"It's certainly not my fault that you interpreted my advice in such a manner that the Minister saw fit to sack you."

"Whatever." Hermione lifted her head up to glare right at him. "Hey," she said, her voice softer. "Your clothes are different."

Snape glanced down at this umber button-down. "Perhaps, Ms. Granger, you should become a private investigator. Your perception know no bounds."

"Oh, shut it. I just thought portraits couldn't change their appearance."

Did Snape look worried? Hermione shook her head. No, he was just as sour-faced as always. "So are you going to turn me in or are you going to help me?"

Snape sighed, looking as though she'd just suggested they eat a dinner of roast pygmy puffs. "What are your options, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione threw open the door to her flat. "I got it!" she shrieked. She half-expected him to not be there, but just like with all her job interviews the last four months, he'd waited for her. Just like he said he would.

Snape looked pleased. "I believe a 'thank you,' is in order, Ms. Granger."

Hermione scoffed. "Really? No 'Congratulations,' or 'Well done'? Just, 'Told you so, you stupid witch.'"

Snape stared and raised an eyebrow. Hermione chuckled, tearing her jacket off. "Right. I almost forgot who I was talking to."

"To whom I was speaking, Ms. Granger. Communicate like the educated woman you are."

"Jesus. Don't ruin this, alright?" Hermione leaned back on the sofa and scowled. "Thank you for pushing me toward potioneering." She lifted her head. "Happy?"

"You aren't a stupid witch."

"What?" She straightened her back, her brow furrowed.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Don't make me repeat it, Ms. Granger."

"Oh," she said, biting her lip. "Okay. Thanks." She watched as his eyes lowered to her chest. She dropped her gaze immediately and gasped when she saw that, in the process of tearing her jacket off, she'd pulled her cardigan down so low, half of one of her lace bra cups was showing.

"Jesus," she whispered, tugging at the cardigan. When she looked back up at him, his gaze was purposefully off to the side, staring at where Crookshanks would be, were he not off chasing butterflies.

When Hermione noticed the color in Snape's normally pale cheeks— well, her mouth dropped open. Snape? Bashful? Those two words didn't quite coexist in her mind.

"You have that champagne Potter gave you for Christmas." His eyes were still firmly not on her. Or her chest.

Hermione blinked. "Right! A celebration!" She positively ran to the kitchen and popped the bottle with her wand. As she poured it into a flute, she wondered why her hands shook ever so slightly. "Oh, stop being an idiot, Hermione," she muttered. Sighing, she returned to the living room to finish her drink with Snape.

"You know, Ms. Granger, if you intend on attracting a wizard of any caliber above 'dunderhead,' you'd do well to not dress like a tatterdemalion."

Hermione glanced down at her big pajama pants covered in a pattern of goats and the threadbare tawny robe thrown over the whole ensemble. "What? You think my date won't find me attractive in this?"

Snape snorted. And chuckled. Hermione felt her insides go a bit warm at his laugh. It was the sixth— or was it the seventh?- time she'd made him laugh but every time, she felt as though it were one of her biggest accomplishments.

"Relax, Professor," she said. "I'm going to change."

"Thank Merlin for that."

When she stepped out in her real outfit— a high-necked spaghetti-strapped maroon dress— he held a book in his lap, his eyes down. "How's this, Professor?"

She nearly giggled at how his mouth dropped ever so slightly. His hooded eyes trailed down her form, settling on the high slit in her leg as she walked toward him, her heels clicking on the wood floor.

He forced his face back to an impenetrable stare. "Acceptable."

"I will take that as an extraordinary compliment, coming from you," Hermione said, grabbing her bag.

"You should." Snape coughed. "Because you look… extraordinary."

Hermione smiled, pink on her cheeks. "Thank you, Professor."

Hermione lunged into her flat, not even bothering with the lights. She sat on her sofa slowly, wiping away the absurd, useless tears on her cheeks.

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione looked up. "Oh," she said, her voice catching. "I didn't think you'd wait up."

Snape's face was expressionless, all save his eyes, which took on a look of worry. "Did he hurt you?"

Hermione stared at her maroon dress, thinking of what a beautiful waste it'd turned out to be. "No. No. Not in the physical sense."

She swallowed and glanced up. "Professor, when you look at me, do you think I'm a muggleborn?" She paused. "I mean, I know I am one, but when you see me, do you say, 'oh there goes that muggleborn…'" she trailed off, wondering if she looked as idiotic as she felt.

There was no sound for several long seconds. Finally, Snape cleared his throat. "When I look at you, I see a witch. A woman. Perhaps one of the most brilliant and irritating women I've ever had the pleasure to spend an extended amount of time with. But no, I do not qualify those nouns with 'muggleborn.' Unless the context calls for it. For instance, when we discuss your parents."

Hermione took a deep breath and gave him a sad smile. "Thank you, Professor." She stood. "I'm going to bed now."

Hermione ran into the living room from her front door, sitting on the sofa with a sigh. This time, she hadn't worn such a pretty dress. So it hadn't been as disappointing as the last time, she supposed.

"I take it your date didn't go well?" It somehow didn't surprise her that he'd waited again.

Hermione buried her head in her hands as a response. "I don't even know why I bother."

"You're lonely." It wasn't a question.

"I'm not lonely," Hermione retorted. "I have Harry and Gin." Both of whom she hadn't seen in weeks. "And Crooks. And you." Both of whom were dead. After a moment, she took in a shuddering breath. "You're right," she wailed. "I'm am pathetic."

"Ms. Granger, I didn't say—"

But she'd already marched off into the kitchen. When she returned, she held two opened bottles of wine. "One for me and one for you," she said. "Oh, but you can't drink. Oh, well, two for me." She swigged the bottle back.

"Ms. Granger…"

Oh, but with that one swig, coupled with all the glasses of pinot she'd consumed at dinner, she was already halfway to drunk. And so she started babbling about some things she'd only had the nerve to think about thus far.

"I've been researching, Professor. And I still don't understand how you can change your clothes." She approached the portrait, so closely that Snape took a step back, his eyes wide. "Did the artist paint an armoire in there, somewhere?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but she continued, "The only thing I've read that can make any bit of sense is that you're not dead. You've made this enchanted two-way mirror portrait thing to make everyone think you're dead but you're not. It's what Heroqious Benargalin did in the thirteenth century. Wanted to spy on his family to see if they'd properly mourn him. Spoiler: they did not." Hermione took a long, long drink, not noting the look of panic on Snape's face. "But that's dumb, isn't it, Professor? I mean, I watched you die. With my own eyes."

He didn't respond. He looked frozen, like a proper muggle portrait. "Is it dumb that I wish that you hadn't?" she asked. "Not that I was ever okay with it. But the more time you and I…"

She sighed. "Nevermind. I know I sound dumb. You don't have to reassure me." She looked at the bottles. "I'll put these away."

As she rummaged in the kitchen, Snape finally snapped out of it. "You don't sound dumb at all, Ms Granger." It was hardly above a whisper.

"Did you say something, Professor?" she called. When she came 'round again, though, he was gone.

"There you are!" Hermione said, leaving the kitchen with a bottle of Bailey's and a bar of chocolate. "Where have you been?"

Snape glared at her, his face blank. "Visiting… other portraits," he said.

She snorted. "Right. Visiting. 'Cause you were so fond of visiting when you were alive."

Snape eyed her drink. "What's the occasion?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Friday night." When Snape raised an eyebrow, she sighed. "While you were away, I started seeing this bloke."

Snape's jaw tightened. "Who?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I mean, I thought he and I were exclusive, but as it turns out, he had several witches on the side. Or maybe I was one of the side-witches. Anyway, like I said. Doesn't matter!" She poured another.

"How much of that have you had, Ms. Granger?"

"What, this? It's mostly milk!"

"Ms. Granger—"

"Do you know the last time I had sex, Professor?"

Well, this caused his mouth to snap back shut.

"Two. Years. Two fucking years." She finished her glass and poured another. "Gods, this is delicious."

Snape continued to stare at her, bewildered.

"A woman has needs, Professor. I mean, there's only so many times I can masturbate alone." She whipped her head up. "Well, I'm not alone, exactly. Am I?"

Now Snape looked full-on panicked. "Ms. Granger—"

"No, wait right there. Don't you move. I'll be right back." Hermione stumbled into her bedroom.

When she returned, she walked right up to him, hips swaying, full-on giggling at his response. His eyes were wide— very wide— and mouth had dropped way open. It was sort of fun seeing Snape in veritable shock.

"Do you like it?" she asked, gesturing to the lace. She laughed. "Slytherin green and all." She furrowed her brow. "I was thinking of a very specific Slytherin when I bought it." She walked away, giving him a full view of her arse in a g-string and settled on the couch.

"What would you do if you were here, Professor?" she asked. "If I were actually in front of you, wearing this?"

Snape's mouth opened, but only a huff of air came out.

"Would you touch me?"

His chest rose and fell rapidly. She smiled and pulled the straps of her bralette down, revealing her breasts. She was certain she'd heard a squeak emanate from the portrait's direction.

"Would you touch my tits? Would you suck them?" She ran her hands over her chest, causing her nipples to harden. She flicked them with her fingers and arched her back, spreading her legs out so that her feet rested on her ottoman.

Finally, he spoke. "Ms. Granger, this is completely inappropriate." His voice was hoarse.

Hermione gave him an innocent grin. "You could always leave, Snape." She lifted her hips and slowly pulled her g-string off. "Or you could watch like a good little pet." She opened her legs, giving him a full-fledged view. He sucked in air so tight, she thought be might be on the verge of passing out.

"Are you turned on, Professor? Do portraits get erections?"

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"Do you want to know what I would do, Professor, if you were here?"

He nodded, this time a little harder.

She slid a finger inside of herself, resting her head back on the sofa. "I'd make you take me to dinner first. I love the way you think and, and move. I'd enjoy that, I think." She slipped in another finger. "Then I'd, gods, that feels good." She fucked herself just a bit faster. "I'd take you back here. Or your place. And I'd suck you off. Immediately. Just pull your cock out and ram it into my mouth." She pulled her fingers out and ran them over her clit, moaning, rocking her hips.

Her voice cracked as she continued. "I'd push you into the bedroom and make you return the favor. I'd push you on the bed and sit on your face. I'd rub my pussy on your mouth, your tongue… your nose."

Now, Snape looked as though he were hyperventilating.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." It was a whisper.

"Would you make me come, Professor?"

"Yes." An even softer whisper.

"Good." Hermione smiled. "After I came on your mouth, Professor, I'd ride your cock. And you'd hold off for me, wouldn't you? You wouldn't be anything like those awful wizards I'd dated in the past. You'd wait until I came two more times." Her legs shook as she dragged her soaked fingers over her clit again.

"Do you want me to come now, Professor?"

He nodded. Never breaking eye contact, she rubbed herself harder, faster. Finally, she threw her head back and moaned, her body convulsing.

When she glanced up again, she was pleased to see that Snape looked about as sexually frustrated as Hermione'd felt for the better part of two years. She curled on the sofa, smiling. "That was fun," she murmured. "Gods, I wish you weren't dead, Snape." Then she fell asleep.

SEVERUS SNAPE: NOT DEAD read the headline on the Prophet the next morning. A photo of Snape speaking with the Minister played itself over and over again in Hermione's trembling hands.

She glanced up at his empty portrait.

"No. Fucking. Way."

Hermione,

Hey, everything alright? Gin tried to floo call you last week. Also, you haven't answered my owls…

As I said, I've actually got to see him. Again. I can hardly believe it, but he did survive Nagini's bite. Apparently he's been hiding out in Spinner's End, where he charmed his house to look nonexistent and unapproachable.

He's been asking about you, Hermione. Not outright, of course. You know him. I think he'd like to see you. Let me know. We can all have dinner, you and Gin and Snape. Jesus, I can't believe I wrote that out, but… let me know.

We miss you.

Harry

Hermione,

Hey, I know you're busy with that potioneering project. I'd forgotten about it. Sorry to bother you so much this week. Of course we can do dinner next month. I know you don't want him to be there, but consider it, Hermione. He's done so much for us. He just wants to see you, I think. He actually called you his, and I quote, 'cleverest student.' He might want to apologize for all the nasty things he said when he taught us. Haha. I know, fat change. Who knows, though?

Either way, get back to us next month. We love you.

Harry

Hermione,

I might've let it slip to Snape where you live so he might pop on—

A knock resounded at the door. Hermione felt her stomach flip immediately as she gave it a sideways glance.

She knew it was him. It had to be. Harry's letter was already a day old, giving Snape time to figure out his… approach.

Hermione jumped when the knock came again, louder this time. She narrowed her eyes, grabbed the portrait she hadn't seen him adorn in weeks and marched to the door.

Swinging it open, revealing none other than her former potions Professor, in... soft blue linen? She blinked, having expected his typical black wool. It only gave her a moment's hesitation, however. She pulled the frame back and slapped it over his head.

He jumped away just in time. "Ms. Granger!"

"You foul, filthy man!" she yelled, swiping at his chest. "Let me think you were bloody dead! Watched me as I—" she stopped, glancing around the hallway. "Did things," she whispered.

"You were rather intent on doing things regardless of my living state," he responded. "Which, might I add, wasn't very polite to do to a dead man."

"Good thing you're alive, then!" she shrieked, hitting his arm with the frame. "Now I can properly kill you!"

"Ms. Granger." His voice was calm, though his stance was one of defense. "If you'll allow me to explain." He swallowed. "Please."

They sat in silence at the restaurant. Hermione fingered her firewhisky. She wasn't overly fond of the drink, but she figured there was probably nothing strong enough for this situation. Firewhisky came the closest.

"I'm sorry," he began. "For making you think I was dead." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "And for allowing you to… do things."

Hermione's cheeks burned as she finished her shot in a gulp.

"So you just didn't want to deal with all the press and post-war accolades?"

"Essentially."

Hermione nodded. "They were awful. They are awful. As you're now experiencing."

"Indeed." He looked at her long, dropping his eyes over her body for a half second before returning to his meal. "Though there are some… benefits in coming out of hiding."

Hermione signaled for another drink.

Snape sighed. She leaned against her door frame, hand on hip, body angled towards him. "I apologize again," he said. "Please let me know if you need anything. If I can repay you for your troubles. Professionally," he added quickly, noting the look on her face.

He turned, but stopped. He didn't face her as he spoke again. "Ms. Granger, after the war, I felt like there was nothing to live for. I spent my days... and nights… alone. Until six months ago when you committed forgery and theft of my... portrait." He paused. "You made me want to live again. So thank you." He made to walk away, but Hermione caught him by the shoulder.

"Come inside, Professor," she said.

He hesitated, glancing at the door.

She smiled cautiously. "Don't you want to see, in person, this place you're been staring at for six months?"

He took several seconds, but finally nodded with a twinge of something— fear? Lust?- in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he rasped, his back against her living room bookcase. He glanced down at her as she slowly unzipped his trousers.

"Yes," she said, gently pulling out his erection and lapping at his sensitive tip.

He dropped his head back, hard, against a book. "Fuck," he groaned.

She wrapped her mouth around him and gave a hearty suck. "Fuck," he practically shouted. She chuckled, causing him to drop his head and moan once more.

"You're not getting out of this one," he grumbled, pulling her towards him on the bed.

"That was just— just a fantasy—" she stopped speaking as she felt his breath on her. She glanced down at his eyes, positioned just so between her thighs.

He splayed her legs so she settled even lower. When his tongue met her clit, she had to grab the headboard to keep from collapsing. "Oh, god," she whispered.

He pulled her clit with his lips and she couldn't stop her body from shaking. "Again." she whispered. "Just one more and I—- ohhh, Professor, yes!"

"Harder," she said, and he tightened his grip on her hips, thrashing her on his cock.

After a dozen thrusts, she came so hard, she stopped breathing for a few seconds. He slowed as she sucked in air. "I believe I owe you one more," he said simply. Then he flipped her over.

Hermione sighed, her head on his chest, hand on his hip. He traced lazy circles over her back, making gooseflesh appear on her skin.

"Told you I'd get my revenge," she murmured.

Snape gave a laugh, the sort that made her heart swell with accomplishment. "It was…" He paused. "Exquisite." His hands reached her bottom. "I wouldn't object to another round of your revenge."

"Mm," she said, pushing up. "This time, you start on top."

Updated Lemon Tree queue:

1. smithback: Harry/Andromeda and/or Hermione/Salazar

2. Guest: Tom Riddle, Jr./Harry and/or Sirius/Harry

3. Me: Dramione (I'm indulging myself based on a prompt I feel I must finish)

4. SereneDreamm: Hermione/Tom Riddle and/or Hermione/Bill

5. Onyx Obsidian: Molly/Arthur

6. Fraulein Takoor: Hermione/Sirius

7. Guest: DM/HG/SS triad

8. munzke11: Charlie/Hermione and/or Dramione

9. AwesomePhotographer: Charlie/Hermione and/or Harry/Ginny

10. Me: Pansy/Neville (I know, it's weird, but the muse is INSISTING and so I'm going with it.)

I hope I didn't miss anyone! Let me know if something's amiss. Also let me know via reviews if you have something you'd like to be added to the queue.

Thanks you all SO MUCH for reading & reviewing.