Defamation of Character

Author’s Notes:

What’s this? Chapter three? I thought the next chapter was chapter eleven. What’s going on?

As any of you following this story have read, chapter five was… downright dodgy, regarding illegal potions and date rape.

After much soul-searching and encouragement from my beta readers, I decided to take the story in a different direction. It took a while for me to realize, and lots of gentle prodding from my beta-reader, Cocoachristy, to realize that what Snape did to Hermione in the previous draft of this story was not at all acceptable.

This story started out as a romantic comedy, and I would like to keep it as such. The previous draft was deviating from that, and I had to reel it in.

I would like to thank my beta-readers, Cocoachristy, SoulBound, and Jen for their long-suffering patience and gentleness. I would also like to extend a deep gratitude for each and every review for this story, especially Southern_Witch, whose reviews showed me the error of Snape’s ways.

I apologize for the confusion and hope that you all will enjoy the new direction the story is headed.

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Chapter Three –

“I couldn’t possibly… I wouldn’t dream… What you suggest is most… inappropriate, Professor,” Percy Weasley stuttered, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he nervously tapped a pen on his desk. “Not to mention illegal.”

Glaring at his barrister, Severus leaned forward and scribbled a figure on a piece of parchment and slid it across the desk. Money meant nothing to him. He had more than enough and honestly didn’t need the hassle of more.

Percy’s eyes widened as he saw the amount of Galleons that his client was offering him to forge court documents. “Professor Snape, I could lose my job if—”

“I am offering you more than you could possibly aspire to earn in your entire lifetime, Mr. Weasley,” Severus drawled slowly, trying to remain patient. “I just need your expertise to complete the transaction.”

The bloody git was still reluctant to commit, judging by the way he kept tapping his pen on his desk. “But, Hermione—”

“Will be taught a very valuable lesson,” Severus replied, his manner calm and collected as he pulled the parchment away from Percy and crossed out the amount, adding an even higher number. Everyone has a price. Who would have thought that garnering cooperation from a Weasley would be so high? But then, Percy Weasley always was the abnormal one in his family. This Weasley actually had ambition.

Weasley’s eyes widened as he looked at the new amount. It was double the last offer. His face turned redder than his hair. “I’ll do it,” he whispered shakily.

“Very well, then,” Severus stated, a malicious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I shall, of course, need for you to keep your sister occupied and away from Miss Granger during this time.”

“That shouldn’t be too much of a problem, sir.” Percy loosened the collar of his tailored, navy-blue robe.

“I shall stop by Gringotts on my way home and arrange for half of the funds to be deposited into your account. I expect the documents to be ready for my departure tomorrow morning. You’ll receive the other half after I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Percy nodded

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Ignoring the aches in her arms, Hermione trudged along the gravel path toward the villa and mentally ticked off her grocery list one last time. If she needed anything else, she would have to Apparate into town. The sun was setting, and she still wasn’t comfortable enough with the area to venture out after dark. She reached the bottom step and adjusted the bags in her arms.

Who was she kidding? It was times like these where magic really was better than the Muggle way. Setting them on the bottom step, Hermione pulled her wand from her sleeve and shrank the groceries to a more manageable size.

She tucked her wand into her sleeve and rubbed her reddened hands together. “I should have done that to begin with.” She rolled her eyes. Once a Muggle, always a Muggle.

Hermione shook her head. She had taken a break from writing to go grocery shopping, hoping that the interruption would jumpstart her muse. Ever since Ginny had stopped by and announced that Snape was on the prowl for the author of The Darkest Magic, she had been on edge and unable to concentrate.

Placing her purchases in the palm of her hand, she made her way upstairs and frowned. Lights were on, and she was pretty sure that she hadn’t left them on. Making her way up the second flight of stairs, her frown turned into a scowl. A shadow moved from the kitchen into the living room.

“What part of creative solitude don’t they understand?” she groused, wondering which one of the Weasley clan had decided to intrude on her privacy. Whoever it was, she was going to send them packing. She couldn’t afford any interruptions. The deadline for the second chapter was tomorrow evening, and she was still editing chapter one for errors.

If anyone had told her that creativity was difficult, she would have given him or her a skeptical look. She had always been the analytical type. Maybe that was her problem now. She had started writing in an effort to alleviate the boredom between freelance assignments. Now, she found herself doing freelance work between books. It just wasn’t fair. She really needed to find some kind of happy medium.

Hermione opened the wood gate and stepped onto the front porch. It was a newer villa with a wrap around porch. She could hear the bubbling jets of the hot tub out back and gritted her teeth. “It must be George or Fred. Worst-case scenario… it’s both.” Either way, they were going to have icicles hanging off their bollocks before she got rid of them.

She edged toward the front door and watched the tall, lanky shadow head toward the back door. “I’ll let him—or them—get nice and comfortable. Then I’ll freeze his bollocks off.” She waited for the shadow to go onto the back porch before entering the villa.

Keeping her groceries small, she placed the entire bag on the counter and waited for Fred or George to get a little more comfortable. She noticed a smooth, black leather travel bag near the door and paused. It seemed too sophisticated for one of the twins.

She snorted. One of them was probably trying to impress some bimbo. Merlin, she hoped she didn’t interrupt anything… gross. Hermione shivered. That was all she needed—to see one of the twin’s freckled arse as he… “Yuck! Just yuck, Hermione!” she hissed softly. “Don’t even go there.”

She slid the door open and tiptoed onto the lanai. The setting sun cast a shroud of darkness over the screened porch. It was the perfect time of day for lovers to indulge in this type of decadence. She heaved a small sigh of relief. If she were to catch George or Fred in flagrante delicto, she wouldn’t see anything.

Aiming her wand at the relaxed figure, she took a step forward. Whoever was in the hot tub was still unaware of her arrival. He was facing the other direction, watching the last rays of the sun as it slipped over the horizon.

She took another step, then another, somehow managing not to laugh. The noise of bubbling water covered the sound of her approach.

The man stretched and sank below the surface. Hermione edged closer, her heart pounding so fast it felt as though it would jump from her chest.

She blinked, moving a piece of errant hair out of her eyes. Feeling the whoosh of displaced air associated with Apparation, Hermione stepped back with a squeak. Her wand leapt out of her hand, and as she made a grab for it, her hand connected with a solid, wet wall of male chest.

This was definitely not one of the twins.

“Tut, tut, Miss Granger,” a familiar, sarcastic snarl whispered against her ear. “It’s not nice to sneak up on people, especially when they are enjoying the fruits of your labor.”

A shiver crawled over every centimeter of her skin as she placed the voice. “P-Professor Snape!”

“Or shall I call you Miss Winters,” he sneered in the darkness, his hot breath tickling the hairs on her neck. “Perhaps, under the circumstances, Cassandra would be more appropriate.”

Hermione struggled against him, refusing to be intimidated by his words or his presence. Maybe she could Obliviate him. “Let me go, Professor.”

“Lumos,” he whispered, releasing her and stepping back. “I’ve spent my entire life spying in some capacity or another. Did you really think you could sneak up on me?”

By the light of his wand, Hermione could see that he was practically naked, sans his underpants, which hung low on his hips and left little to her imagination. “I… I—”

“Need a lesson in manners,” Severus snapped. He threw her wand in the air and flicked his wand toward it. It vanished.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “My wand! Give it back!”

“No,” he snarled, walking past her and into the house.

She followed him down the hall, her fists and gut clenched with fear and rage.

By the time they reached the sitting room, he was dry. He reached for his black bag, set it on a table, and opened it. Pulling a pile of papers from its depths, he unfolded them and handed them to her. “If you read over the paperwork carefully, you will see that I own it. It’s mine to do with as I see fit. If I wanted to Vanish the bloody thing… Well, consider it Vanished.”

“You can’t do that!” she hissed vehemently. “That’s illegal! You don’t own my wand!”

Scratching his chin with one hand, he tapped the thick packet of documents in her hand. “I beg to differ,” he sneered, motioning for her to read the material before her. “I own every single piece of furniture, stitch of clothing, dish, and creative idea. I even own you. Consider yourself my personal house-elf.

“Oh wait!” he chuckled, his laughter causing her stomach to churn in a most sickening manner. “You can’t be a house-elf without magic. Perhaps indentured servant would be a better title for you.”

She gaped at him as the nightmare unfolded before her. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t probable. It was preposterous! It was a joke. It had to be some elaborate joke, and the only people she knew who would stoop to such lengths…

Well, one of them was standing before her, Polyjuiced to look like Professor Snape. She should be angry with them, but now that she’d figured out their ruse, she was giddy with relief.

Hermione laughed, tossing the paperwork, whatever it was, onto the floor and moving toward George or Fred Weasley. Ginny must have told them about Professor Snape finding out. They had always teased her unmercifully regarding her crush on the greasy git. They never could resist taking a prank to extremes. Whichever barmy twin this was, however clever, was going to have the tables turned on him in a most unconventional manner.

“Oh wait!” She mimicked the Professor’s earlier declaration and slithered toward him seductively. Touching the pale skin of his chest with a delicate caress, she shivered. She should have been grossed out, getting this close to George or Fred, but the look on his face was priceless and well worth the inconvenience.

“I have an even better title for myself,” purred Hermione, pressing her lips against the stubborn jaw she’d had naughty dreams about ever since she was of age to have such thoughts. “How about personal sex slave?”

She had to hand it to whichever twin she was dealing with. They were impersonating Professor Snape wonderfully, down to the menacing scowl and the fantastic back-story. Merlin, she was going to enjoy this. If she were a betting woman, she would put her money on Fred. George was involved with Katie Bell and wouldn’t put up with the intimate proximity.

Standing on her tiptoes, Hermione placed her lips against his. She kept the kiss close-mouthed, but felt her stomach flip in excitement. Yuck! How can I be turned on kissing Fred Weasley?

She stepped back and grabbed his hands, tugging him toward the master bedroom. “Would Master Snape like to adjourn to the bedroom? Would he like to sample his slave?” she giggled, unable to keep a straight face.

Jerking his hand out of hers, her former professor stared at her with dark, disbelieving, obsidian eyes. “Are you ill, Miss Granger, or have you just gone completely mad?”

Hermione snorted. If she had been drinking milk, she would undoubtedly have had milk bubbles coming out of her nose. “Oh, Fred! Give it up! I applaud you for your effort, but you can’t fool me. I must admit that I’m impressed that you would go to this extreme for a practical joke. I can only imagine how painful it is to Polyjuice into Professor Snape, much less where you got one of his hairs… or how you got one of his hairs?”

The half-naked man cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. “You think that I’m Fred Weasley?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded.

“You think I am Fred Weasley and that Itook Polyjuice to be me?”

Hermione punched his shoulder and huffed. “Yes, you bloody dolt! Ginny was here three days ago and told me about Professor Snape finding out that I modeled Simon after him. She obviously told you, and you couldn’t resist playing this absurd practical joke on me.”

She didn’t know what to expect, but she wasn’t expectinghim to laugh. The sound unnerved her, and she didn’t like that at all.

“I do so admire your imagination,” he sneered. “It shall make me a very rich man.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she rocked back onto her heels and nibbled her bottom lip.

“There is a fatal flaw with your summation as to my identity though.” He crowded her and backed her against a nearby wall. “You must remember that Polyjuice Potion takes a month to brew—having brewed it yourself. So, if Miss Weasley was here three days ago, how was I, Fred Weasley, able to brew Polyjuice Potion on such short notice?”

“Uh…” stammered Hermione, racking her brain for a sensible answer and trying to ignore the obvious flaw in her logic. “You… you had some already brewed and just needed to… to add the hair.”

Snape grinned, Summoning the documents and tapping her cheek with them. “This is a temporary injunction, issued by the Ministry of Magic. It is an injunction against you and your cohorts at Romance Rabble. As of midnight last night, I own all profit from the sales of your book, The Darkest Magic, and any other holdings that you may possess. There is also a clause that enables me to oversee the creative process of your next novel and any novel thereafter to ensure that I, or the character of Simon Sanders, do not appear in anymore of your trashy romance novels.

“In essence, Miss Granger, I own you.” He leered, glancing at her lips and pressing his granite hips against her soft tummy. “I hadn’t thought about having a personal sex slave. But if you are volunteering for the position, I would be more than happy to accept your offer.” He raised a challenging eyebrow. “If nothing else, I can appreciate your imagination where the art of sex is concerned.”

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TBC