100 Ways to Kill a Weasley
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
93
Views:
41,802
Reviews:
236
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
93
Views:
41,802
Reviews:
236
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Moment of Satisfaction
*WARNING!* This may be a TAD dark. With some Non-Consent? Just a little.
Buzzing emanated from deep within the jungle. Hermione laid flat on the cold earth, the whites of her eyes the only noticeable flag to her camouflaged existence. Her breath was even, low; only the spiders who could feel the resonance on their webs knew she was there. Even the jagaurundi perched only feet away was stalking an opossum without great note of her.
While the dank woodlands teemed, Hermione’s eyes rested silently on the tent forty feet in front of her. The campfire had been stomped out for hours, and all she had to do was wait. Wait until it was deep enough into the night to set off the diversion. When he rushed out, disoriented from sleep (if he did in fact sleep), she would kill him. Her machete was a versatile and useful weapon in an area where any magical signature could set off hundreds of ancient booby-traps.
Her breath hitched momentarily, her eyes rolling back in her head while she thought of the pleasure of her knife skimming across his pale jugular. The hot blood would splash her, bathe her, purify her. And then finally, she would avenge her love’s death. The scene still played in her nightmares. Ron squirming on the ground as his blood literally boiled in his veins. Just hours after Voldemort’s death. Only hours after his bravery…
It was time.
At the moon’s highest, a pre-set recording blew through the small clearing. Cougar cries bounced off tree trunks, birds flew from their nests, the jaguarundi left its kill and bolted. As Severus Snape threw open the tent flap, Hermione jumped up and ran down the brush.
Her sinewy arm against his shoulders pinned him to the tree, and she relished the awestruck dazzle in his black eyes before she had to slit his throat from ear to ear. Watching the red flow down his taught torso, she lapped at it while he gurgled, and it finally reached his abdomen. The life of her enemy would only serve to strengthen her. She positioned the machete against his stomach, ready to eviscerate him.
But… something wasn’t right.
His eyes were transforming, his hair was retreating.
He was… he looked like… no. NO.
Hoarse screams far worse than a cougar shriek pierced the valley as she stared back into the eyes of her former lover, Ronald Weasley. “God no, God no.”
Sweet, sleek notes appeased back, “Gods, yes.”
Rope pulled tight against her neck, the machete falling to the dirt as her hands pulled against the restraint. She felt it twist, and one arm was pulled back, tied, then the other was captured. “I’ve been waiting for you all night, Miss Granger. I’ve been thinking about you for months now.”
Her body was pulled back toward the tent, and she felt it collapse while she landed roughly on a trunk inside. He had ripped a hole in her pants larger, and placed his cock at her entrance. Yanking her mane of dirty hair back, she felt his nose place against her jugular. “You smell so fresh.”
A whimper escaped before she gritted her teeth. “Yes, Miss Granger.”
He rammed his cock into her.
Buzzing emanated from deep within the jungle. Hermione laid flat on the cold earth, the whites of her eyes the only noticeable flag to her camouflaged existence. Her breath was even, low; only the spiders who could feel the resonance on their webs knew she was there. Even the jagaurundi perched only feet away was stalking an opossum without great note of her.
While the dank woodlands teemed, Hermione’s eyes rested silently on the tent forty feet in front of her. The campfire had been stomped out for hours, and all she had to do was wait. Wait until it was deep enough into the night to set off the diversion. When he rushed out, disoriented from sleep (if he did in fact sleep), she would kill him. Her machete was a versatile and useful weapon in an area where any magical signature could set off hundreds of ancient booby-traps.
Her breath hitched momentarily, her eyes rolling back in her head while she thought of the pleasure of her knife skimming across his pale jugular. The hot blood would splash her, bathe her, purify her. And then finally, she would avenge her love’s death. The scene still played in her nightmares. Ron squirming on the ground as his blood literally boiled in his veins. Just hours after Voldemort’s death. Only hours after his bravery…
It was time.
At the moon’s highest, a pre-set recording blew through the small clearing. Cougar cries bounced off tree trunks, birds flew from their nests, the jaguarundi left its kill and bolted. As Severus Snape threw open the tent flap, Hermione jumped up and ran down the brush.
Her sinewy arm against his shoulders pinned him to the tree, and she relished the awestruck dazzle in his black eyes before she had to slit his throat from ear to ear. Watching the red flow down his taught torso, she lapped at it while he gurgled, and it finally reached his abdomen. The life of her enemy would only serve to strengthen her. She positioned the machete against his stomach, ready to eviscerate him.
But… something wasn’t right.
His eyes were transforming, his hair was retreating.
He was… he looked like… no. NO.
Hoarse screams far worse than a cougar shriek pierced the valley as she stared back into the eyes of her former lover, Ronald Weasley. “God no, God no.”
Sweet, sleek notes appeased back, “Gods, yes.”
Rope pulled tight against her neck, the machete falling to the dirt as her hands pulled against the restraint. She felt it twist, and one arm was pulled back, tied, then the other was captured. “I’ve been waiting for you all night, Miss Granger. I’ve been thinking about you for months now.”
Her body was pulled back toward the tent, and she felt it collapse while she landed roughly on a trunk inside. He had ripped a hole in her pants larger, and placed his cock at her entrance. Yanking her mane of dirty hair back, she felt his nose place against her jugular. “You smell so fresh.”
A whimper escaped before she gritted her teeth. “Yes, Miss Granger.”
He rammed his cock into her.