JUST ONE NIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT:

ONE REQUEST

JUNE 2010

The end of year meeting was long, dull, frustrating, and largely unnecessary, and both Hermione and Severus were disappointed that they were not alone for it. They were joined by three members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors: longtime Secretary Mafalda Hopkirk, ten-year Treasurer Percival Weasley, and newly-elected President Lucius Malfoy.

"You're looking well, Minister," said Malfoy, dragging his eyes over her from stem to stern, his steel gray eyes piercing through the long purple witch's robe she wore over a simple white business suit. "These years since the war have treated you kindly."

"Yes, I am considerably less stressed than I was in my youth, Mr. Malfoy." She looked him over too, but without the lascivious undertones. "Now that my kind no longer have to fear eradication at the hands of a blood supremacist madman, we are able to relax a little. Let our hair down, so to speak." She threw in this last line as a thinly veiled dig at him. His hair - his glorious, luscious, long blond lovely hair - was noticeably thinning on top and going gray to boot.

"But is that safe?" he asked, his voice dripping with false concern. "We've all heard the rumors, of course."

"Rumors?" She played it cool, but inwardly she was panicking. What rumors? What could he know?

"Concerning the Knights of Walpurgis. Such a worrisome organization, from what I've heard. Putting the Ministry through quite a spot of trouble as of late. Sure it's not... keeping you up at night?"

Everything about him infuriated her, from the glean in his eye to the hint of a smile on his lips to the way his fingertips curled over the stupid snake's head of that cane. He was a coward and a bigot and a narcissist, and no more reformed than Bellatrix Lestrange or Barty Crouch Junior ever could have been; she knew others had fallen for his show of remorse and subsequent charitable contributions intended to 'make it right,' but no amount of galleons would ever erase the memories of what he'd done to her and her friends at the Ministry and at Malfoy Manor, nor would she ever be free from the MUDBLOOD etched into her arm at age eighteen while he stood by, watching, and doing nothing, so his gold and "I know better now" meant absolutely nothing to her.

"I don't know where you're getting your information, sir, but I assure you, the Ministry has it under control. Now, can we get this meeting underway? I have another appointment after this one."

"Of course, of course." He lifted one hand from the top of his snake's head walking stick and patted her upper arm. It took everything in her not to cringe and pull away. "You must be terribly busy, you poor dear. How we'd hate to hold you up over something so small an issue as the best education system in the wizarding world. Or shall I say... former best? It seems we have fallen to second, after Ilvermorny." From inside an attache case at his feet, he pulled a copy of THE EDUCATOR, a periodical printed worldwide for witches and wizards seeking to keep up on the latest trends in magical education. In addition to information about universities and apprentice programs, every June issue also contained a breakdown of primary and secondary schools, ranking them based on a series of criteria. For the first time in the hundred-plus years since the first issue went to print, save for 1998 when no ranking was released, the American wizarding institution had stolen the top spot from Hogwarts.

"Embarrassing," said Percy Weasley with a shake of his head as he pulled up a chair. Catching a sharp look from his sister-in-law, he quickly apologized. "It's nothing against you or Professor Snape, Minister! But the Americans having been steadily rising in rank for the last ten years, while we've also watched Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Mahoutokoro improve and excel, narrowing the gap. I fully expected one of them to unseat us at the top in due time, but to lose the spot to the Americans? Not fifty years ago they were still executing people by modified Pensieve and experimenting with erumpent horn fluids."

"I realize we have dropped to second place-"

"Barely a hair above Beaubatons," said Mafalda, set to take notes in her official capacity of stenographer, a job she continued to hold at the Ministry in addition to her duties in the Misuse of Magic office. Hermione hated being in the same room with her. When it came out that the Golden Trio had stolen her hair, clothes, and identity to infiltrate the Ministry during the war, she hadn't been happy.

"I woke up half-dressed and disoriented!" she'd snapped at Hermione during her post-war official deposition. "You can only imagine the thoughts that permeated my every waking moment from that moment on, as I wondered what might have happened to me in that state!"

Though the woman was perfectly polite to her now, Hermione was sure she'd not been forgiven. She was also sure the witch hadn't voted for her to succeed Kingsley.

Between Mafalda looking up from her parchment to shoot Hermione wounded looks every other paragraph, and Percy's pompously given advice for the headmaster regarding how to better managed finances and resources to run the school, and smarmy Lucius's nasty habit of touching her when speaking - squeezing her knee or brushing his hand against hers - and Severus' cold, indifferent expression and occasional deferral to the portrait of Dumbledore when she just wanted him to put the other three in their place, the entire meeting was sheer torture.

When it was over, all she wanted was a drink - and she typically did not drink.

"Shall I walk you to the apparition point, Minister?" asked Lucius, holding out his arm. "The terrain can be most difficult for a witch in impractical shoes like yours. Dangerous footwear leads to injury, as I've told my dear wife on more than one occasion."

(She was wearing a low-heeled boot, not a bloody stiletto. Merlin, how she loathed that man!)

"I'll walk with you, Hermione," said Percy, dropping the formality of her title now that the meeting had concluded. "I wanted to drop by your house anyway, to talk to Ron."

(She knew he had no reason to drop by her house and was merely trying to save her from Malfoy. Sweet, but unnecessary.)

"I'm having dinner in Hogsmeade with a few of the women from the Wizengamot: Lucretia, Amaryllis, and Penelope," said Mafalda. "You're welcome to join us."

(Though Hermione appreciated the invitation, she also knew not one of them would actually be pleased to have to dine with her in their off-time.)

"Thank you," she said, smiling politely. "But I must decline. I was hoping Professor Snape would grant me use of his fireplace so that I can Floo directly to my next engagement. Headmaster?"

She hoped, in calling him Headmaster and not Professor, he'd get the hint - there was no other engagement.

"What's mine is yours, Minister," he said in a flat, bored tone, gesturing toward the crackling fire.

"Thank you, Headmaster. In that case, I'll bid you all farewell." She shook hands with Mafalda, Percy, and Lucius in turn, trying not to react when the vile man practically caressed her palm with the pad of his middle finger when she pulled away.

It seemed to take forever for the trio to finally depart. She and Severus stood in silence, staring at the door, for several minutes afterward, neither trusting that one of them wouldn't return. When she finally turned to face him, she jutted up her chin in a most determined way, hoping beyond hope he wasn't about to bid her adieu and expect her to Floo out.

"Headmaster?"

"Yes?" He cocked one eyebrow. He was seated in the chair behind his desk, casually sipping what was left of the lemon-cucumber gillywater a house elf had served mid-meeting, when they - in particular, the two men who wouldn't shut up - complained of being parched.

"I hope you will not think me crude, impolite, or inappropriate, but I'd like to issue you a request."

He downed what was left in his glass, set it on the desk, and leaned back. "Go right ahead."

"I'm feeling frustrated and... and I'd like you to... to..."

"To prescribe something? I am no Healer, but as a capable Potions Master, I do continue to brew in my off-time, and may have a mild calming solution in my personal stores..."

"I want you to fuck me. Relentlessly. Until I cry."

Behind Severus, Minerva gasped, and several other portrait subjects moved into neighboring frames to whisper (and judge).

They'd been doing this for near on two years, and it still caused quite the scandal among the former headmasters and headmistresses.

"You would like for me to make you... cry?" Now both of his eyebrows were inching toward his hairline. He tapped the side of the glass with the tip of his wand, refilling it.

"I feel I am in need of a good cry, yes. Is that a problem?"

"I believe I can handle such a request, Minister." This time he emptied the glass in two gulps before standing, stretching, and stalking over to her. "But not in my bed. I had another woman in my bed last night and do not believe the house elves have yet done their housekeeping duties. I shall fuck you in the sitting room, against the bookshelves, on the floor, on the table, or on the couch. Your choice."

She dug her fingernails into her upper thighs, willing herself not to react to this news of another woman. Had his wife been to visit? It was possible, as the students had already left for the summer. But if that were the case, why wasn't she present now? Was he shagging someone else? Though it was irrational - Hermione knew she had no claim to him, no right to be hurt or upset or to demand answers - it pained her to think she might not be the only one he was seeing on the side.

"Lucius Malfoy is a foul, vile, disgusting excuse for a man," she said. She wasn't sure why these were the words that left her lips considering his last sentence, but she supposed it was worth stating outright. "He's a pureblood supremacist, he's unfaithful to his wife, and he deserves to rot away in Azkaban. I do not understand how you can maintain a friendship with him, or trust him to raise your own flesh and blo..." Her voice trailed off. One warning look from him told her she'd gone too far.

"It is not your place to question the choices I've made in regards to my eldest child," he said sharply. "My children are none of your concern. If you'd like to spend this evening discussing how to best parent, I suggest you return home to your husband."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes watering. "I just... I hate him. I hate him so very much, and the way he's always touching me, and looking at me, and..."

"He only does it because it bothers you." Severus' expression softened upon seeing the hurt in her eyes. He hadn't meant to make her cry... not this way, anyway. "He's a cad, but we have a long and complicated history, and Delphini... I have less control over Delphini than one would think, considering my relation to her." He ran his hands up and down her upper arms, pulling her toward him in what was the closest to a hug she'd get from him. "I did not mean to snipe at you. It is a sensitive subject. I apologize."

She sighed. It had been a difficult day, starting before sun up. Ron had stumbled home around three-thirty in the morning, reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. He'd awoken their son and because he was too drunk to function, it had been up to her to put the boy to bed again. When she returned to the room she and her husband shared, he was sprawled out face down across the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and flared out like a cape, his trousers down around his mid-thighs, one sock on, one sock off. Snoring.

She undressed him down to his shorts and covered him with a quilt before carrying his clothes to the wash room, which is where she found a note in his pocket.

Leslie Braintree

And a phone number.

The arsehole hadn't only been out with another woman, he'd been out at a Muggle bar trying to chat up another woman! What was he going to do with a phone number? Though he'd worked a phone a couple of times in their youth, the couple didn't have one in the home. She checked his other pocket.

Oh. A cell.

Her husband - her wizard husband, who purported not to know a damn thing about Muggle electricity (and not to care) had a cellular phone. She flipped it open.

Text message after text message, all from a woman named Yvette. Clearly a girlfriend. Clearly a Muggleborn, as she referenced the Ministry and the difficulties of using her cell while at work there, given Muggle technology tended to fritz out when there was an abundance of literal magic in the air.

Yvette had texted him eleven times in the last twelve hours, wondering whether he'd be out of Quidditch practice early enough tonight to meet up.

"Sorry, Yvette." Hermione dropped the phone into the washing machine, started the water, and poured in far too much detergent. "He was out chatting up Leslie. You're yesterday's news, I'm afraid."

After the phone had swished around a bit, she added his dirty white shirt and good trousers, their son's muddy jeans and jumper, and their daughter's brand new neon pink dress. She stopped herself from dropping the contents of her inkwell in as well, not wanting to ruin the children's clothes.

She'd returned to her bedroom, planning to sleep for a couple of hours before having to get ready for work, but he was literally taking up the entire bed. And then Hugo woke up again. And Hugo's crying woke Rose. And before she knew it, Hermione was comforting two children and making breakfast and readying them for school and readying herself for work and basically doing every damn thing there was to do before going off to run the bloody government, because Ron was too pissed to get his arse up out of bed and help.

She wondered if Leslie knew how to fix lunches and do laundry. Maybe he'd be willing to just move her right in. Hermione could use the help.

If Yvette didn't mind.

"Minister?" asked Severus, shaking her free from the memory. "I should not have snapped at you. It has been a frustrating day, and I apologize."

He had a frustrating day too?

It must be going around.

She wondered again who he'd spent the previous night with, and, ultimately, decided she did not care.

"Do you... will you still... in the sitting room?"

"Of course." He kissed her gently, and Minerva tsked from her portrait. "Follow me."

Maybe a good, hard fuck wouldn't take away her problems, but it certainly couldn't hurt.

And if it did hurt, all the better.

Not fifteen minutes later, she was on her hands and knees on his sitting room floor, gasping and groaning as he drove unrepentantly into her from behind. His hands were on her hips, keeping her in place, and he was on his knees. She fell forward, resting her forearms against the rug, liking the way it burned against her skin as her body was propelled forward and dragged back with each thrust.

"So... fucking... tight..." he growled, as one hand moved from her hip to grab hold of the back of her hair, jerking her head up. "Touch yourself."

"I... I can't!" She could barely keep her body from collapsing. He'd been plowing into her for a good five minutes in this position after some of the best foreplay she'd thus far experienced at his hands - or, more accurately, at his tongue.

He yanked harder on her hair. "Do it."

With one trembling hand, she slipped her fingers between her folds, seeking her swollen bud. She rested her forehead on her opposite forearm, digging her fingernails into the carpet. "Ohh!" she whimpered as her fingers made contact with her clit.

"Is it still wet?" he asked. "Or do you need me to lick you again?"

"Wehhhht," she replied with a moan, unable to express a more coherent thought.

"I want to feel your pussy clenching around my cock. Can you do that for me, Minister? Nice and tight."

She always felt tight when he was inside her, namely because he filled her so well, but she did as requested, eliciting a low groan from him.

"Fuck... yes... yes, like that. Good." He jerked back on her hair again and she cried out in response. He really was going to fuck her until she was a sobbing, shaking mess. And she was glad. Or should would be glad, anyway, once it was over.

"Hurt me," she requested, two words that had never before escaped her lips during sex.

"Hurt you?"

"Hurt me. Hit me, choke me... I don't care what you do."

"It's dangerous to give a man like me free range." He suddenly stopped fucking her and pulled out. She'd barely managed a whisper of protest before his hand came down hard on her bare bum. She yelped. She could imagine the imprint of his palm and fingers pink against her skin.

"I can hurt you if you want me to hurt you." In one fluid motion, he'd pinned her on her back, holding her wrists together above her head, with his other hand on her throat, applying light pressure. "How badly shall I hurt you?"

"I..." Hermione's eyes widened fearfully. Though she'd wanted it in the moment, she now felt nothing but terror and trepidation. She'd been held down like this once before, held down with a hand over her wrists and another to her throat... then pinned with her arms to her sides, as if on a cross... and then carved into, like a jack-o-lantern... Crucio. Crucio! CRUCIO! Until she'd passed out, until the world around her went speckled, then black, leaving the witch on top of her free to do whatever she wished...

"No-no-no-no-no," she wailed, shaking her head. "Stop! Stop, please, stop!" She choked out a sob. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, I'm sorry!"

He released her wrists and slid the hand from her throat to the back of her head, supporting her as he leaned down to kiss the corner of her lips. Once, quick, gently. He then positioned himself beside her, one hand on her abdomen, the other propping up his head. She remained on her back, breathing heavily and staring straight up at the ceiling. He, too, was struggling to breathe evenly.

"I lied," he said. "I lied to you."

"You... lied?" Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks. She had panicked. Swiftly and completely, for the first time in years, at the mere reminder of the torture she'd suffered on the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor. It was humiliating to have fallen apart like that, especially as he was only doing as she'd requested.

"I had no woman in my bed last night. I had biscuits and hot cocoa and I spent two hours with my nose in a Quibbler-produced crossword puzzle book, and what's left is still set on a tray on my unmade bed."

"Oh."

"Come to bed with me."

"I... I... I..." She turned her tearstained face to him, confused. "You're not angry with me? For... for making you stop?"

"I should not have hit you"

"It's alright." She sniffled. "That part I might have liked."

"Then I should not have put my hand on your throat. I-"

"I asked you to." She closed her eyes, unable to look upon him, unable to see the pity in his eyes. She hated looking weak. She felt it undermined her position as Minister and supported the opinion that someone older, more established, and in possession of a penis should have taken office after Shacklebolt. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. I don't know what I was thinking."

"In my defense, Minister, you did begin this evening with the request that I make you cry."

"This wasn't quite the cry I had in mind."

"Come to bed with me," he suggested again. "I'll find another way to make you cry."

"I think I'm cried out."

"I'm sorry for hurting you."

"I'm sorry for asking you to."

"Come to bed with me. I'll not ask again."

She forced herself into a seated position. Though it had been about two years, there was a part of her that couldn't believe this was her, this was her life. She was naked on the sitting room floor of Professor Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and considering his offer to go to bed.

"Could I spend the night?" she asked. Her mother was with the children; who knew where Ron might be? "I'll leave early."

"Spend the night." He leaned over to kiss her. "I'll need all night to make this up to you."

"It's not your fault," she whispered... but she wasn't averse to the thought of him taking all night to make her feel better.

Hurt me. It had been her request.

Spend the night. That was his.

One request each.

One request. One night.

One way to end a frustrating day.

A/N:

Thanks for reading and thanks especially to those who reviewed! I am eyes-deep in edits for my middle grade manuscript, so it'll probably be about a week before I edit this again, and I apologize for the long break between the last chapter and this one. I only have a few more days to get the revisions to my editor and have to therefore focus on that. But in the interim, if you're bored, I posted a Hermione-centric one-shot called Mudblood and chapter one of a Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Lucius, Lucius/Narcissa fic called Someone Like You, plus updated Andromeda Tonks: Long-term, Addict earlier tonight... just sayin'. lol :)

Thanks again!

-AL