A Matter of Circumstance

Chapter 24 ~ Hermione Makes Some Change

“Hermione! You can stay with me!” Harry said, looking around the flat with dismay.

It wasn’t so bad actually. Hermione had painted the walls a beige color and hung up some pictures to cover the bolt holes in the wall. She had some second hand furniture, a sofa, loveseat, reclining armchair, coffee table and end tables as well as a couple of bookshelves. She put a rug down to cover some stubborn stains on the floor that wouldn’t come up. The kitchen was well supplied too, the table doubling as her writing desk.

Her bedroom contained a full-sized bed, dresser, wardrobe and a crib. The bathroom was a little shabby, but serviceable. The witch had to clean like crazy when she moved in, but now it was livable. As long as she kept her door closed and securely warded.

”You don’t even have any windows,” Harry complained.

”Harry, it’s fine,” Hermione said.

“Hermione, you can’t ignore what’s outside. This isn’t a good location at all. Let me help you. Move in with me,” Harry said to her as she took two plates of a cabinet to make them lunch.

“Harry just sit down,” Hermione snapped at him, “It’s affordable and I can take care of myself. Besides I don’t want to listen to you, Draco and Ginny wailing and groaning all night long.”

Hermione had been aware of Harry’s little “arrangement” with Ginny and Draco for some time. She thought he was a freak, but…he was still her friend. Who he chose to shag was his business. At least he was happy.

Harry colored, shook his head and sat down. Hermione was right. The three of them did make quite a bit of noise. He changed the subject.

”Has Ron been by?” he asked the witch as she made two ham sandwiches.

”Yes. He helped me move in, though he complained about it the entire time. He said we were being watched and all my furniture was probably going to be stolen,” Hermione said as she poured two glasses of pumpkin juice, then set Harry’s food in front of him.

Harry looked at her rounded belly before she sat down across from him. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite as Harry studied her.

“Has Snape been by to check on you?” he asked the witch.

Hermione shook her head.

“No, he hasn’t. I sent him an owl telling him I found a flat, but I didn’t give him my address,” the witch said, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

“Why not?” Harry asked her.

Hermione shrugged.

”I don’t know. I guess I don’t want him to feel obligated to come see me,” she said.

”But he is obligated, Hermione. What the hell is he doing to help you?” Harry demanded.

“Actually, he’s footing the bill, Harry. He’s paying for my flat,” she said, “Though I’m trying to find a job. So far only Cedric’s offered me one working in the sex shop.”

Harry blanched. Cedric was one creepy wizard. Harry knew him because he had been in the Sex Symposium one or ten times in the past. There were some pretty wild toys there.

“Hermione, you’re not going to take it are you? If you need money I’ll give you some,” the boy-who-lived said, his eyes worried.

Hermione scowled.

“Why doesn’t anyone think I can take care of myself? Ron was trying to shove some galleons in my pocket yesterday, Severus just opens a bank account and says go for it and now you’re trying to give me a handout too. I’m pregnant…not an invalid, Harry,” Hermione said, frowning at him.

“Hermione, it’s because we care…at least Ron and I do. Snape’s probably just giving you money to stay out of his hair and keep you from taking him to court. I bet whatever he’s giving you, the Ministry would double,” Harry said.

“If they did double it, I’d be rich,” Hermione said, “The Professor’s being very generous, Harry, believe me. I don’t have to work if I don’t want to…but I want to. I don’t want Severus thinking I’m going to live off his money and not do anything for myself.”

“He’s supposed to support you Hermione. You’re having his baby,” Harry replied, all the while thinking “having the wizard’s spawn” would have been a more appropriate description of what the witch was going through. But he’d never say that out loud. Hermione would probably blast him out of his robes. It was her child too.

“Listen Harry…I was the one who chose to sleep with the Professor. I pursued him. He didn’t want anything to do with me at first. So when he finally caved in, it was up to me to protect myself…and I didn’t. So now I’m pregnant and I don’t have anyone to blame for it. I asked for this,” Hermione said to Harry.

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

”Hermione, he is just as responsible as you are. If he didn’t want a child, he should have protected you, not climbed on you every chance he got. It takes two people to make a baby, Hermione…this isn’t an immaculate conception. Snape has a responsibility too and you shouldn’t let him off the hook about this,” the wizard said, “He should be here checking up on you and seeing if you need anything. I can’t believe he’d even let you stay in Knockturn Alley, the bastard.”

Hermione sighed.

”He doesn’t know Harry, and even if he did know…I doubt if he’d care as long as the flat was livable and the baby not in any danger,” Hermione said, “Plenty of people live here.”

”Yes…the cream of the crop,” Harry snorted, “Hermione, you’re surrounded by thieves, murderers, prostitutes and the gods know who else. You’re in danger every minute of the day.”

“Harry, I was trained to fight just like you were. I know how to protect myself and trust me…people around here know that,” the witch said, her amber eyes narrowing as she remembered blasting a wizard who caught her by the arm when she first visited the flat.

She hadn’t even asked him what he wanted…just gave him a blast that sent him flying into the wall and knocked him unconscious. No one else accosted her since. Word got around quickly in Knockturn Alley.

Cedric found out just how well-protected the witch was as well when he attempted to enter her flat unannounced. He had the Master key and inserted it into the lock without incident…but when he touched the doorknob, he got a shock that made his hair smoke.

He knew to knock after that.

“I still don’t like it, Hermione,” Harry said, “Promise me you’ll tell me if you want to get out of here…all right?”

Hermione sighed.

”Fine, Harry. I will,” she lied.

They finished their lunch.

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The students in the Potions Class all groaned as the Potions Master whipped out a fifty question pop quiz.

”Five point loss across the board!” Severus snapped, passing out the quizzes with a scowl. He had just penalized his own Slytherins as well and didn’t give a damn, the whiney little rotters. He hadn’t warned them of the upcoming test as usual.

“Get to work. You have twenty minutes to complete this quiz,” he stated.

The students looked at him wide-eyed. There were fifty questions and they had to all be answered in complete sentences. But not one dared complain. They just went to work.

Severus sat down at his desk and glared at the scribbling students. He was in a bad temper…well…worse than usual. Normally he was just unpleasant, but now he was downright mean.

Hermione had been gone almost two and a half weeks now, and the Professor was no longer getting the release he became accustomed to over the past year and change. All he had to do was apparate into the witch’s room and her warm willing body accepted him like a sheathe. It had been quite pleasant.

The wizard had considered going to the brothel several times, even apparating to Knockturn Alley once and approaching Madam Yummy’s House of Good Times. But the women lingering within its doors were no longer as appealing and he returned to Hogwarts without indulging himself in their overused wares. The Potions Master didn’t realize it at the time, but he had become accustomed to Hermione’s responses to him. She loved him after all, and when he took her he could feel how connected she was in more than a physical manner. Of course, he never really considered it beyond how good it made the sex…until now.

Severus had received Hermione’s owl saying she found a flat and was furious she didn’t tell him where it was. He decided the witch was trying to manipulate him into running after her.

Well, he wouldn’t do it. No chestnut-haired, amber-eyed little vixen was going to bring him to his knees. No. Not Severus Snape. He had faced the worst despot that ever lived and remained standing. Hermione Granger was not going to be the method of his downfall. He was too strong for that.

Severus did check the bank account however, and the charges made. Hermione had purchased a few pieces of furniture and household items. He scoured the ledger at Gringotts, trying to find one frivolous expenditure, but couldn’t. Hermione wasn’t wasting his money.

If she had been, that would have been the perfect excuse to for the wizard to track her down, dress her down…then fuck her.

In that order.

So Severus Snape was relegated to snarking about Hogwarts in worse temper than usual making everyone else pay for his lack of vitamin F aka Hermione Granger.

Hera watched Severus simmer slowly from her throne in Mount Olympus. She enjoyed this mortal immensely. Hera was not the most understanding goddess, coming across as beautiful but cold. In fact, the bards of old described her as not being very amicable, jealous, obstinate and as having a “quarrelsome” disposition. She was also quite cunning and vindictive. So Severus, as bad as he was, struck a chord with the goddess since they shared some similar traits.

Still, the wizard was going to get a ring through that marvelously aquiline nose of his and marry that little witch. Zeus be damned.

Hera was also the Deity of Wronged Women, and there was someone she felt deserved a little punishment concerning Hermione. She summoned Hermes.

The little god zoomed into the throne room, flitted to the floor and bowed low before the Queen. Hera was no ordinary goddess and he showed her proper deference in her presence.

“How may I serve you, my Queen?” Hermes asked the goddess.

“I want you to go get Eris,” Hera snapped, her green eyes flashing.

“Shit,” Hermes thought, then intoned, “Yes my Queen. Immediately.”

Hermes found Eris sitting on her throne looking bored. Luckily she didn’t see him coming this time so no nastiness occurred.

”What do you want?” the goddess asked sullenly, turning one of the little silver skulls in her eyebrow idly.

“The Queen of the Gods summons you,” Hermes said formally.

Eris sat up.

”Hera? What does she want?” she asked him.

Hermes shrugged.

”She just told me to come get you. You know not to keep her waiting,” he replied.

Eris did indeed. She changed from her short leather dress into a long black gown. Hera didn’t appreciate goddesses showing too much flesh whether Zeus was around or not. She swept her hair up into a bun and looked in the mirror. She left her piercings though.

”I look uptight enough for Hera,” she said, then disappeared, reappearing in the throne room and curtseying awkwardly in front of the Queen. She never really got the hang of it, but it was a fair attempt.

“You summoned me, my Queen?” Eris asked her.

”Yes, I did. I have a task for you, Eris. There is a mortal on earth that I would like to experience a bit of strife and discord,” the goddess said, waving her hand.

A mirror appeared and the image of a woman appeared in it. She wore green jeweled glasses and her blonde hair was tightly curled in unmoving ringlets as she chattered to someone outside Eris’ view.

“That is Rita Skeeter. She’s a witch. I’d like life to be hard for her for the next few days. Do you think you can manage it?” Hera asked the goddess.

Eris studied Rita as she wrote a scathing column about some poor soul.

“Oh, I can manage it all right,” Eris replied, then realizing who she was talking to, hastily added, “My Queen.”

”Good,” Hera said with a rather evil smile, “And Eris…make it…painful.”

***************************************

There was a small article in the Daily Prophet the next day in lieu of Rita’s daily column.

Rita Skeeter Struck by Hex from Unknown Assailant

As Rita Skeeter departed the offices of the Daily Prophet yesterday evening, she was approached by what onlookers described as a hooded woman in a long, black gown and wandlessly hit with an unknown hex that made painful boils erupt, bubble and burst on her entire body without ceasing. The screaming witch was transported to St. Mungo’s immediately. There has been no change in her condition and a floor-wide silencing spell has been cast to mask the reporter’s cries of pain. Stumped healers are tentatively calling the hex “The Recurring Bloody Boil Spell” and claim it is the worst and most resistant hex they’ve seen in decades.

Rita’s column will be suspended until further notice.

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Cedric knocked on Hermione’s door, then resumed caressing his knuckles as he waited.

”Who is it?” Hermione called, her wand drawn on the other side.

“It’s your landlord,” Cedric purred.

Hermione shuddered and said, “Hold up both your hands where I can see them.”

Cedric did so, his hair palms turned outward. Hermione stepped to the side and opened the door quickly, her wand pointing between the wizard’s eyes. Behind him, alley occupants muttered at the witch’s caution. Hermione was no joke.

”Come in,” she said, wanting to close the door.

”Thank you,” Cedric replied, simpering in.

”How can I help you Cedric?” Hermione asked the wizard.

”I wanted to know if you wanted to make a quick two hundred galleons?” Cedric said, his filmy eyes falling to her belly.

”Doing what, Cedric? Despite my state I’m no whore,” she snapped at him, very tempted to hex the little pervert.

”Oh no. No. It’s nothing like that, Hermione. Oh, I wouldn’t insult you by suggesting you have sex for pay. It’s not like that at all. It’s just that I have a customer with very…peculiar tastes and you would be perfect for him. There’s no touching, no nudity, nothing for you to do except sit down and tell him a story,” Cedric said.

Hermione’s brow wrinkled.

“A story? What kind of story?” she asked the toady little wizard.

”Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” Cedric replied with a perfectly gruesome smile.

He began caressing his knuckles again. It always made Hermione picture the wizard playing with himself. Not a good image at all.

“That’s it? No sexual innuendos?” she asked him.

”No. All he wants to do is have someone tell him a bedtime story as if he’s being mothered. He doesn’t even really speak to you. He just…listens and does some little things that don’t involve you at all. You won’t see anything,” Cedric said, “It’ll take about half an hour at the most. Two hundred galleons is a lot of money…and I know you can use it.”

“How do I know this wizard won’t attack me the minute the door is closed?” she asked Cedric.

”Trust me…he won’t. He’s about ninety years old and fat. He doesn’t move very quickly or much at all really. He just wants to be told a story. That’s it,” Cedric said.

”Two hundred galleons?” Hermione asked again.

Cedric nodded.

That was a hell of a lot of money…a thousand pounds.

“And I don’t have to do ANYTHING else…just tell him the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and when I’m done…he’ll just leave,” Hermione asked Cedric to be sure she understood everything.

”Yes, that’s right. And I will give you the money myself tomorrow,” Cedric told her.

Actually the old freak was paying three hundred galleons, but Cedric had to make a little something. One hundred galleons covered “a little something” just fine.

”All right then. I can do that. But if this character even breathes too hard, he’s going to be hexed to bits, Cedric…so you’d better warn him,” the witch warned.

“Oh, I will. I will,” Cedric replied.

They went over the details, then Cedric offered his hand to Hermione to shake. She eyed the hairy palm.

”Ah, we’re in agreement,” she said shortly. Cedric smiled and lowered his hand.

”All right then. Until this evening,” he said to the witch and left the flat.

Hermione locked and warded the door.

Now, Hermione didn’t just agree to do this because of the galleons, though they were part of it. The truth was…the witch was curious and bored. If all she had to do was tell a story and get two weeks pay for half an hour…she’d do it. It wasn’t like she was having sex for the money. She’d told stories to young students in the library at Hogwarts before. This was no different. Hell, it was one of the same stories.

Cedric told her that she needed to dress conservatively, no skin showing at all and pin her hair back into a bun. When the wizard arrived, he’d adapt the living room to what he liked, listen to the story, then change it back before he left. And that would be it.

As Hermione got ready, she knew there had to be something more to this than just telling the old wizard a story. Cedric wasn’t telling her something. Well, she’d keep her wand close just in case.

*********************************************

At about nine o’clock, there was a knock on her door.

”Who is it?” Hermione called, her wand drawn. She was dressed in a regular robe, her hair in a bun as instructed.

”Cedric sent me,” a soft masculine voice said.

“Back away from the door,” Hermione said, once again stepping to the side and pulling the door open, her wand pointed between the eyes of a bald, round-faced and fat but distinguished looking elderly wizard in dress robes with bushy white eyebrows.

“My, you are certainly well prepared for trouble, Miss,” he said, looking cross-eyed at the wand.

”You have to be when you live in Knockturn Alley,” Hermione replied, backing up, “Please come in and close the door.”

”Thank you,” the wizard replied, entering her flat and looking around the living room then letting his blue eyes fall on Hermione who was busily locking and warding the door behind him.

”Are you a good storyteller? Do you have experience?” he asked her.

Hermione nodded.

”Yes. I told stories to children at Hogwarts on occasion,” she replied, looking at the wizard appraisingly. He had a very pleasant and kind face. He didn’t seem dangerous at all.

”Oh, that is wonderful,” he beamed at her, “Just wonderful! Now, if you will just retire to your bedroom, I will prepare for Story Time. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Hermione looked at the wizard, who smiled back at her, then shrugged. She’d have her wand and he really didn’t look as if he were going to attack her at any rate.

“All right,” she said, walking into her bedroom and closing the door.

Her wand in hand, she placed her ear against the door. She heard the wizard moving around the room muttering spells. Finally after about ten minutes, he called her.

“I’m ready!” he said in a joyous voice.

Hermione opened the door and entered the living room, her mouth dropping open as she saw the wizard and what he had done.

He was standing inside a huge crib, dressed only in a diaper with a huge blue diaper pin and a baby cap with ruffles that tied under the chin. His big belly protruded and he held a huge rattle and the living room had been turned into an over-sized nursery with enormous stuffed animals, a rocking horse and big blocks with letters on the side.

The wizard gurgled and shook his rattle.

”Story mummy! Story!” he cried in a babyish voice, stomping his fat feet heavily in the crib.

“Oh good gods,” Hermione thought as she began to tell the story.

****************************************

By the time the wizard left, Hermione felt totally soiled even though she didn’t have to do anything but tell him the story.

Unfortunately, the wizard got off sexually on it and manipulated his cock through his diaper, gurgling with pleasure, falling on his back and kicking his feet in the air, rolling all about, his eyes wild with excitement as he listened to the story…apparently ejaculating when the three bears came home and caught Goldilocks in their beds and the little girl escaped.

Then he asked Hermione to go back into her bedroom (which she gladly did) and returned everything to its former state. When she came out, he was once again the distinguished looking gentleman who first knocked on her door and her living room looked no worse for wear.

”Thank you for an excellent evening,” he said to her with a happy smile.

”You’re welcome?” Hermione replied at a loss of how else to answer him.

The wizard left and Hermione swore she’d never do anything like this again. It was just…just disturbing.

It was the quickest and sickest two hundred galleons she’d ever made.

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A/N: Lol. I was just…lol…I don’t know what I was thinking. But then again I do. As the product of several very bad relationships, I often tell my kids my ideal man would be a rich old geezer with one foot in the grave who paid all my bills and just wanted me to tell him stories. I guess he finally made it into one of mine. Sorry ya’ll…but thanks for reading.