Calling Dr. Granger

Calling Dr. Granger

Chapter 4

It all belongs to Rowlings, except what you don’t recognize.


“Are you daft? You might have Splinched us!” Hermione was only seconds away from giving into the hysteria welling up in her throat.

Snape threw the crazed Witch on the floor of the dusty room. He sat heavily on the bed with his head in hands, still holding Hermione’s wand.

“And you killed him. You killed him.” She murmured before dissolving into quiet tears.

A dull silence fell over the room relieved only by the soft sound of her mourning the loss of her mentor. After about ten minutes, the quiet of the room allowed her to start to get a handle on her emotions. Tears were still running down her face as she finally raised her eyes to first stare at the very thin man in brilliant green robes and then to look around her. The room seemed to be a bunker of some sort. One could see through an open door into a bathroom. There were no windows, just a rickety table and two chairs, a set of drawers with some dusty toiletry bottles on top and the large bed that her patient was sitting on. She felt embarrassed that she’d yelled at a sick man. Then the horrifying image of Dr. Falco’s death crept back into her mind. She started sobbing anew.

“Stop it,” at first Hermione wasn’t sure if it had actually been Snape talking to her. It had been years since she’d heard his voice.

She looked up to see him pointing her own wand at her.

“I didn’t kill him,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t let me go to him. I could have healed him.” Once the words were out of her mouth, she realized that telling Snape that he was at fault wasn’t a good idea. She should be reassuring him, not accusing him.

Snape’s black eyes seemed unreadable. He just stared at her like some statue of a gargoyle. For a moment she thought maybe he’d retreated again. Oh, Gods, what if she had pushed him back to wherever he had been? And then he spoke. It was so gently said that she barely heard him, but it seemed to her that some of the silkiness of his old self had returned.

“You struggled and the wand misfired. I…” he paused and swallowed hard. “I needed you. I couldn’t let you go. At the time, it was very important to me that I had you near me.” He stopped speaking and put his head back into his hands. Hermione started to go to him, but he looked up and with a gesture indicated for her to remain sitting. Hermione knew then she was quite possibly in a great deal of trouble. There was a line of perspiration along the top of Snape’s lip and his body was much more rigid than before. He seemed very afraid. If she was his hostage…

“Is there anything I can do for you?” She tried to make her voice light. He needed reassurance and calm. If she were to survive this, it would be because she kept control of the situation. It was difficult. She had always had the authority and the backing of the hospital, not to mention Withercrust (no, don’t think about that) behind her.

His eyes flicked over to her and he slowly and very carefully stood up. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

“What?”

“No questions!” he sneered and a bit more of his old demeanor came back into place.

“No. I’ll sit on the bed, but I won’t take my clothes off.”

“What about your promises? You said there would be more. Oh, fuck, just more lies.” He turned his back on her and walked into the bathroom. He seemed confident that she wouldn’t try to escape. Then she realized that without any exit windows or doors she couldn’t escape.

He shut the door and she heard the sound of running water. Then he came out.

Snape glared at his former student. He wasn’t feeling well, not well at all. For one thing, he was almost one hundred percent sure that he was dead. He’d been tortured and had died under torture. He’d gone through some sort of limbo process of reality after reality and now he was here. But was it just one more reality? Did it matter that he was with her again? He shook his head and walked over to one of the wooden chairs.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded.

She looked mulish.

“All right, stay on the floor. See what I care.” He tucked her wand into the hideous green robe and again tried to think.

“Professor Snape? Professor Snape.” Her little voice was trying to get his attention. He tried to ignore here and then gave up.

“Oh, what the shite do you want now?”

She was giving him a patronizing little smile. “I’m getting up. And I’m getting on the bed.”

She nodded. He nodded back. “Good for you. Now, shut your gob and leave me alone.” He tried to collect his thoughts again. He wanted her. All those other possible worlds, fantasies, whatever it was, the good places had her in it. He’d panicked when he’d come to. He understood that now. He shouldn’t have done anything. And-- The sound of her hiccupping broke him from his meditations. He got up, filled a dusty cup from the sink and handed her the water.

“This cup is filthy.”

“Oh, do be quiet and no hiccupping. I need to understand all this.” He rubbed his face with his hand and returned to the chair.

“Can I help?” She was all wide brown eyes and innocence and, quite out of nowhere, he remembered how she’d looked as a child. The absurdity hit him. He started to laugh. It was not a gentle sound, it sounded of defeat and humiliation. He continued to laugh more and more rancorously.

“Could you let me into the joke?”

“You had these enormous teeth and I said, ‘I see no difference.’ Gods, you were such a little twit. How did you get into my mind?” He found a handkerchief in one of the drawers and wiped the tears that had formed in his eyes.

“I remember that. You had me in tears. Even though it was Draco’s fault.”

“Oh, yes, it was always his fault. All the Death Eater spawn I had to take care of and protect. Right. Well, if you won’t take off your clothes at least lie down, close your eyes and spread your legs. It won’t take long.”

“What!”

“Problem with your ears along with your teeth?” His heart was jumping at the thought that it was going to happen. Like in so many of the dreams or fantasies—he so wanted to know if this was real. And if it wasn’t, what did her feelings matter?

“Just what are you planning to do?”

“You’ve got promises to keep. You told me there’d be more. Were you lying?” He licked his lips and wished he hadn’t given her the only cup in the place.

“I don’t understand. Where is this place?”

“It’s an old Death Eaters’ retreat. Basically unplottable if their spells have held up.” He looked around, “however, judging by the amount of dust, I couldn’t swear that all the spells hadn’t weakened over time.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Hermione thought she had a plan, but it would be tricky. She put her feet up on the bed.

“What do you think?” Snape felt his groin tighten and he began to get hard. So many memories, so many times they’d touched and made love. He needed her touch so much. He’d settle for feeling her arms around him. But she didn’t seem to want it. It was confusing.

Hermione blushed. He looked like he was planning to devour her. Snape was not a handsome man. When Hermione went out hunting for a bed partner, well, there were certain standards. Snape came nowhere near any of those standards. But, if she was to win his trust… Sex for her was usually no more than a means to an end, anyway. She lay herself down on the bed, her breath coming in short gasps.

“That’s better. I’m quite relieved to see that you don’t make empty promises.” Snape noticed that her eyes flared at his words. He could almost smell her fear of him. He found it both enticing and disheartening. He sat next to her and the bed springs squeaked. He removed her shoes and gently stroked first one foot and then the other. He massaged her ankles, savoring the feel of a woman’s flesh between his hands after so many years.

He started to laugh again. There was a panic-stricken tinge to it.

Hermione opened one eye. “What’s so funny? Is it me again?”

“I was remembering. It’s been a very long time since I’ve done anything like this.” He started to chuckle again and Hermione realized that he was extremely nervous.

“You don’t have to.”

Snape sobered. “I want to. I just have no luck. Last time I had sex it was because me and a woman got drunk, but then I accidentally went in the wrong entrance, her back door if you get my meaning. It was dark in the room. I spent the next five years watching my back that I didn’t get hexed by her.”

“You, you’re looking for something other than just sex I think.” Hermione stayed on her back, figuring that the less threatening a figure she presented, the better her chances would be of getting out in one piece.

“Oh, right, Dr. Know it all Granger to the rescue. Want to talk about my mum or something.” He felt disappointed. She didn’t want him. He felt sure of it now. But the need for him to be with her still was there. He ran his hand up her leg, pushing the robe up and stopping just at her mid-thigh, willing her to relax and want him.

“Maybe, well maybe I am a know it all. Or maybe you just really want to relax and have some human contact?” She found the courage to reach her hand out and put it on his hand.

He snorted, “That’s a good one.” He pushed his hand further up her leg and rubbed her cotton covered mound. His eyes were fastened to hers, searching for a reaction whether it be either good or bad.

She closed her eyes and tried to relax. Struggling would send the wrong message. She needed to win him.

“Here’s some human contact. Does it feel good?” he asked. Snape felt himself starting to spin out of control again. He needed her, but he didn’t know how to go about having her. He slipped one finger under the leg of her knickers and pushed at her entrance. He got his answer. “No, it doesn’t, does it? You’re as dry as a bone.” He got up and off of the bed. He felt like his heart was going to shatter. Where was he? Why was he touching her? Shouldn’t she just be screaming at him, like that last woman. He walked away from the bed and sank to his knees.

Hermione released her breath. She hadn’t realized she was so tense. “You can’t expect me to want to make love, or even have sex just after my supervisor has been killed.”

Snape had no words. They had all fled. He stared at the floor, helpless. He needed her, but he would not abuse her. More images swirled around in his mind. Was he dead? Was that trap door death and was this his limbo? No, it was hell, because he’d found her, but she didn’t want him.

“Cockteaser,” he muttered under his breath.

She felt confident enough to sit up and watch him. He looked like a marionette that had had his strings cut. Her instinct told her now was the time.

“I’m walking over to you.” She was afraid that if she startled him he might hurt her. She believed that she could win him. Slowly she kneeled behind him. “I’m putting my hands on your shoulders now.” And she followed through, schooling her hands not to give away the fact she was trembling.

Snape felt her and a small spark of hope arose. She was coming to him! He stayed still. Let her. Let her come. He felt her hands on his shoulders. They were very light and gentle. He felt her caress him, and he closed his eyes, leaning back into her touch.

“That feels good, doesn’t it? It’s what you really want. To be touched, right?” Her voice was soft in his ears and he felt his erection grow even harder.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Hermione kept her voice steady and even. “I can give you more of that. There’s some lotion on the bureau. If you were to take off your robe and lay face down on the bed, I’ll massage you. It won’t be sex but it’ll feel just as good. And I won’t try to disarm you. You’ll be able to relax.”

Snape turned in shock. He looked at her, wanting to discern if she was lying. He could endeavor to read her mind, but he didn’t feel steady enough to try. He gave a curt nod and got up off the floor. With a smooth movement he broke the belt of laurel around his waist and pulled the robe up and over his head.

Hermione refused to gasp at the scars that laced his emaciated body. She’d tried so very hard not to pay attention to him when in physical therapy or being washed. It was really the first time she’d seen the extent of the damage that had been done to him.

Snape left on his underwear. His erection was large and bulging in the front of his briefs. She’d said no sex. He laid stomach down on the bed. The creaking springs told him that she was next to him and then there was the smell of the lotion. He’d made it himself many years ago, and he’d left it here in this room just in case he’d ever need it. It was for massages of a different kind than his ex-student was using it for. He moaned with pleasure when he felt her hands on his back. Involuntarily his buttocks tightened and he was rewarded by the feel of the bedclothes rubbing on the tip of his cock, which was now peaking out from his underwear beneath him. He allowed her to massage his back and neck, then his arms and legs. Every touch brought him closer to sexual climax. Perhaps the woman above him was an idiot. Was it possible that she didn’t know the effect this was having on him? His breathing was ragged. He slowly tightened and relaxed his muscles, faint, but not subtle enough to go unobserved that he was dry humping the sheets.

Hermione found herself in an odd situation. She had thought that if she just got him to trust her enough to relax that her chances of escape would improve. But here it had all turned sexual again. Still even that might be to her advantage. To be honest, she was losing a bit of her objectivity. He was an incredibly ugly man. However, the roadmap of scars on his back that she was massaging was affecting her in a decidedly wicked manner. She had been quite dry when he was attempting to arouse her, but here with him lying docile below her, she felt the wetness seeping between her legs. Suddenly, he flipped over and she was confronted with his very erect cock pressing itself out of his underwear.

Snape felt he couldn’t stand another moment. He turned over and allowed her to see the effect she’d had on him. He was a man after all. He looked up into her eyes, praying not to see disgust there, please anything but disgust. Something flickered in her eyes, just for a moment and then she looked away. What he saw gave him just enough courage to whisper the word, “Please.”

She looked around the room, searching for something other than his cock to look at, but her eyes were drawn back to him. Hermione realized that she’d actually known this man, her teacher, far longer than any of her many lovers. In fact, she preferred her sex as anonymous as possible. She never wanted to see any of the men again after they done it. Yet Snape had said ‘please’…

She pulled down his underwear to his knees and warmed some more lotion between her hands. Hills lls were enormous. None of the men she’d had sex with were much older than twenty-five. Their sacs were much smaller, tighter. She warmed the lotion and then she put one hand on his member. It jerked up violently at her touch. She gasped, though her breath was already coming in short bursts. She put her other hand on his balls and gently cradled them in her palm. They were so very large, hot and hairy that she found a certain allure in them. She looked at his face and saw the harsh lines transformed into what might almost be called a beatific expression. She caressed the sac, fascinated by the heft of it. Then slowly, she took in the appearance of his cock. It was long and thin, almost a reflection of his own physique. She had had enough surprises in her choosing of men, though, to know neither fingers nor noses nor wrists were an accurate indicator of cock shape or size. His was purple headed and heavily veined and she felt a bit intimidated by it, even though she was a doctor and should be thoroughly bored with such things by now. She simply wasn’t. She stroked him lightly and he put his hand over hers to guide her. He wanted her to use more pressure and she proved herself willing to accommodate him.

She continued to rub his balls at the same time she pumped his cock. He was thrusting his hips in the air and his hands spasmodically gripped and released the bed cover. It only took a short time before he said in a low, velvety voice, “Hermione, I’m very close, please, please.”

She especially enjoyed watching his face. She never got to be in charge when she picked up men. This was rather nice. She could sit back and simply observe him, watch the way his very pale chest flushed with excitement or how his reddish brown nipples became very hard and small. She didn’t really want it to stop, but then his hand was over hers again and he’d increased the pace and pressure on his staff until she was quite sure it would hurt him. She thought to bear down a bit on his balls to see the effect and he suddenly cried out as a geyser of both clear and thick white liquid shot from him. Bits of his cum landed as far up as his throat and Hermione eyed the ejaculation with something akin to desire. She wondered if his was just as bitter and salty as what all the others produced.

He pressed on her hand and in a barely audible voice said, “Thank you.” He turned his head to the side and soon was fast asleep.

Hermione congratulated herself. Well, her plan had worked and gone off (pardon the pun) without a hitch. There didn’t seem to be a Muggle or Wizarding male on the planet that didn’t come and then drift off to sleep. She admitted it was nice to realized that he, the most loathed teacher Hogwarts had ever seen, or so she suspected, was just a man like any other man. Once satisfied they all nodded off like little babes. Heh, he was even snoring.

She looked down into his hand. The wand wasn’t even there. It had rolled off the bed! Hermione sighed, what was she expecting? She bent down and picked up the wand. She then performed a clean up and dressing spell on him from across the room. If he did wake, she wanted to be sure there was plenty of distance between them. She sat in the chair and watched him. With a heavy heart she knew they’d have to return to the hospital soon. But she didn’t want to face the ugly reality awaiting them. Her wonderful Dr. Falco was dead. She closed her eyes and put her feet up on the table. She was so anxious from what had gone on at the hospital and with Snape just now, that she really needed to take care of business before heading back. Putting her wand in her inside robe pocket, she undid a few buttons on her robe. Her left hand drifted over to her breast, where it teased and then pinched her tit.

Her right hand followed the same path that Snape’s hand did, but this time her knickers were soaked with her excitement. She roughly forced two fingers in and pressed upwards, searching for the special spot. While contracting and relaxing her internal muscles, she also tortured her nipples. In a short time, she felt the rising tide of her climax. She withdrew her fingers and let them focus in rubbing her clitoris. Small mewing sound escaped her lips as her orgasm drew closer. With a cry, she fell down into the white explosion centered between her legs. She continued for a few seconds more, drawing out the sensations and fully savoring the aftershocks. Finally, she removed her hands from her robes with a shuddering breath. Snape was still there on the bed, sleeping soundly. Hermione wanted to go wrap herself around him so she could enjoy the sensations of a warm body by her side while they slept. After all, it was the first time she’d experienced orgasm in the same room as another person. She really wanted to be close to him, even though there were a dozen reasons not to.

Taking a slow, cleansing breathe, she walked over to his bed and held him so they could Apparate together back to St. Mungos.

A/N: Big hugs and special thanks to my reviewers: Wendynat, Site, Littlebird, Demonic Angel, and Mother.

Somehow, while writing this chapter, I kept thinking about a couple of novels I read many years ago, The Painted Bird and Cockpit both by Jerzy Kosinski. (Kosinski is best known for his novel, Being There, which was given a film adaptation starring Peter Sellers in 1979.)

Here’s to you Jerzy, a quarter century after I’ve read them and I’m still thinking of your works. Wherever you are right now, may it be a better place.