Coveted Persecution
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,519
Reviews:
30
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,519
Reviews:
30
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JKR. I do not profit from writing this story.
Epilogue
Author’s Notes: As I said before, this is NOT a story of romance. Full Dubcon ahead.
Epilogue
“Tell me,” Snape commanded, looming over her.
When Hermione failed to respond, Snape finally sank into her wetness, deep and slow. She threw her head back, eyes closing languidly as her mouth feel open. Anything…
“Promise…” Hermione mewed unexpectedly when his movements reached a steady rhythm. “Promise you’ll say goodbye before you leave.” Her arms flailed above her until she located a solid corner of the headboard for her clenched fists.
Severus breathed heavily against her ear. His words issued out of his mouth stiffly, syllables exaggerated with each thrust against her. “Yes… I… pro—” It had been far too long for him. “I—I will…”
*** *** ***
Snape grasped Hermione’s headboard with a groan, alleviating the weight off his shaking knees.
They’d been at this awhile, and his joints were beginning to protest. Breathing heavily, Snape looked down, taking in the sight of the exhausted woman beneath him. Perspiration drenched every inch of her skin, saturating her hairline. Hermione’s neck and chest were flushed, no doubt from the combination of pleasure and ever increasing pain.
She had expected him to reach release long before now; Snape hadn’t. He’d merely wanted to observe how long she’d continue before asking him to stop.
A sardonic laugh rumbled in his throat at the realization that Hermione probably never would.
Brushing his face against her ear, Severus rasped, “I take it this meets your approval?” He pushed into her hard and steady, dragging his pelvis against her sensitivity each time he pulled out.
Throwing her head back, Hermione released a guttural sound bursting with frustration.
She was so very close… And Snape knew it too. That mocking laugh returned with intensity, strange and frightening.
“This has been fun, but I think I’ve had enough.”
Hermione tensed under him, her satisfaction rapidly decreasing. But despite Snape’s words, his onslaught upon her, within her, around her… he was reinvigorated.
Snape groaned even louder, face reddening.
“You’re—are you leaving?” she asked, her voice insecure.
“Eventually… ah, but I have a promise to keep, don’t I?”
“What—?”
Snape grasped her around the throat, and squeezed, forcing her into silence. He kissed her hard and without emotion before whispering against her lips, “… goodbye.”
*** *** ***
Hours later, Hermione woke up screaming.
Unlike all the other times she had done so, this wasn’t from a realistic nightmare or reliving memories of the war.
Naked and filthy, she shot up in bed—only keel over just as quickly, in pain.
Face down upon her mattress, Hermione clutched at her throbbing abdomen, and her screaming began anew.
*** *** ***
Days turned into weeks with no sign of Severus Snape, forcing Hermione into combat with her emotions.
She feared her own home. Knowing that the wizard could easily come and go as he pleased, Hermione couldn’t find sleep.
Some nights, when she realized she had been staring into the darkness for hours, she’d rise from bed and go out into her patio. Leaning upon the railing, she’d stare down into the quiet, peaceful streets of Diagon Alley until her mind began to play tricks with her.
Shadowy figures stepped out of alleys and looked back at her, wrapped in long black robes. Every time she blinked, they were gone.
Day after day, week after week, Hermione would return to work and greet the same smiling faces.
She’d complete the same tedious work.
Walking home each night, Hermione’d pass by familiar shops, the very ones she used to look forward to visiting when she was a student. After entering into small talk with the invariable clerks, she’d purchase her favorite foods and wine.
And each night, shopping bags in each hand, Hermione would pause in front of her building and just look at it.
Why didn’t she move? Why didn’t she make a report to the Aurors? Or in the very least, ask Harry for help or place to stay?
Hermione already knew the answer…
She feared her home.
*** *** ***
“The memorial thing is finally scheduled. Last weekend of the month,” Ron offered cautiously. He held his cup of tea in front of him, looking at it more often than he drank.
“I’m aware,” Hermione replied.
It had been months since the two of them had broken off their engagement. Neither nurtured the hope they’d ever achieve an absolute reconciliation, but they couldn’t ignore each other for the rest of their lives. They’d shared far too much. As much as seeing one another hurt the two of them, staying completely away had hurt more.
“Hermione…”
“Don’t.”
Ron leaned forward, glancing around the restaurant for prying faces. “Don’t you shush me! I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t concerned.”
“Please, Ron—”
“What’s been going on with you? You told me—once—that Snape’s alive… that he was stalking you. And now you act like none of it happened, going along with the plans for the memorial! Why hasn’t he come forward? Why haven’t you—?”
Hermione was so determined not hear anymore, she kicked at the table in her dismayed attempt not to yell, turning over the tea service. Yanking on her cloak with violent movements, she left the restaurant without a word.
By the time she reached her building, Ron had finally caught up to her.
He didn’t ask any more questions. Not one sound was uttered. He permitted Hermione to fight his grip upon her elbow until she finally allowed his arms to wrap around her.
Ron knew her so well; he would have been frightened if she hadn’t started crying the way she did. He also knew the right questions to ask now, but couldn’t imagine putting such things into words.
Arms still tightly around her, he walked Hermione to her door. He had yet to return her key; she had yet to ask for it.
Thinking she needed a lie down, Ron ushered her into the bedroom. Hermione finally pulled out of his arms, turning towards the bed. A distressed sound tore out of her. Hermione fled to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door.
Dumbfounded, Ron stood in place in the middle of the room, unaware as to a proper reaction. The high keening issuing from behind the bathroom door was a sound he had never heard before.
Sitting upon her bed, Ron found what must have been the catalyst to this break down.
A single, long stemmed rose lay upon the pillow. He would have jealously wondered as to the romantic insinuations behind the gift… if it wasn’t dried up. What must have once been a beautiful, deep-red bud was now black and shriveled. The image was awful, made worse by a note that read:
“I will not allow you to forget about me… for I haven’t you.”
The bathroom door finally opened.
Ron turned to the body braced in the doorframe, his expression masked with horror. In his innocence and genuine worry, Ron’s assumption of the worst was not the same as hers.
“It’s not from… I would never…”
Hermione wiped at her face before speaking. Not until he saw the emotion behind her eyes did Ron realize her wild tears weren’t ones of sorrow.
“I know,” she said with a smile.
*** *** ***
A middling number of witches and wizards had attended the memorial at Hogwarts. Hermione wasn’t surprised in the least.
What had surprised her was that all of the surviving Order members attended. While many had never and would never refer to Severus Snape as a friend, they were still appalled by how much of the man’s life had been kept in the dark. Such as the memories he had given Harry. No one had known how long Snape spied for Dumbledore, nor the treatment he had received at the hands of Voldemort. But because the wizard was no longer here to judge them, righteous anger lay heavily upon Harry, Hermione, and Ron for the circumstances surrounding Snape’s death.
For the first time in nearly seven years, Harry’s name was once again in the papers, painted in a critical light.
Hermione thought the three of them deserved this and more, despite what had happened a few months ago.
She no longer possessed quixotic illusions of Severus Snape. Hermione had finally separated his sacrificial actions from the disturbed man he truly was.
He’d been watching her sleep. Of this, she was certain. There was no doubt he followed her comings and goings, because every time Hermione shared her lunch hour with Ron, she’d find a new… gift… on her pillow.
Except now, he would leave them sometime in the middle of night where she'd find them in the morning.
The last one had been an antique diary. Based on the numerous shelves of books in her room, Snape knew Hermione collected diaries for their workmanship, not for her desire to fill them. Like the rose and few other items, she would have thought the sentiment behind the gift attentive—if it wasn’t for that one thing that made Snape’s intentions perverse.
This diary, for example, was already full. From the few pages she had read, Hermione gathered that it used to belong to the young daughter of a Death Eater in the late 60s. The witch detailed the various wizards she was forced to ‘entertain’ during the parties her family threw in honor of Voldemort.
Disgusted, Hermione slammed the book closed, possessing half a mind to throw it away.
She smoothed her hand over the leather surface, eyes glazed in contemplation.
Forgetting—dismissing—ignoring her previous thoughts, Hermione arose from the desk and crossed her bedroom. She placed the diary with the rest of her collection, one shelf bellow a dry, black rose.
After a lengthy shower, Hermione combed out her hair and stood before the mirror. She gazed at her reflection for a long time until her chin ultimately dropped in defeat.
The image before her was terrible. She could not continue working these long hours on so little sleep.
Opening her personal cabinet, Hermione reached for one of the dozens of potions she had brewed herself. Her hand hesitated in the air. After opening and closing her fist, Hermione glanced at her reflection one more time, and finally retrieved a small vial.
With one movement, Hermione clenched her eyes, yanking the cork from the vial, and downing the contents in one quick gulp.
The sound of her personal cabinet closing on its own accord forced Hermione to look up.
There was a second pair of eyes gazing at her in the mirror, shrouded between two curtains of long, greasy hair.
Hermione couldn’t move.
Her mouth opened, inhaling sharply as if to scream, yell, cry… she did not know what. But before she had the chance, Snape completely pressed himself against her backside. One arm came around her, sliding along her collarbone and into her dressing grown. He held her left breast with delicate fingers, stimulating her nipple against his calloused palm.
His other hand squeezed her thigh, grinding her bum against his hardness already pressed there. Leaning down, cold nose pressed behind her ear, Snape inhaled deep and whispered, “… missed this.”
Hermione looked at the vial in her palm and cried, “Gods… no!”
“No?” Snape laughed. “You’ve been waiting for me, don’t deny it. Every night, you stand on your balcony, hoping to catch one glimpse… My tokens of ardor are strewn about your room. You’ve been waiting for me.”
“I’d expected this long before now.” The last words squeaked out of Hermione’s mouth on a high note when the hand messaging her thigh slipped between her legs.
“That pathetic little stunt you pulled with The Quibbler has made things difficult for me. But… you at least managed to keep my existence to yourself, why is that? Why haven’t you reported me to the Aurors?”
“I don’t… know.”
Severus growled through clenched teeth, grasping her wrist and forcing her to turn around and face him.
Looking up at his tall, imposing figure, Hermione forced herself to sound stern. “I want you to leave. Now.”
He smirked to himself, trailing his index finger along her jaw, down her neck… by the time he reached her chest, the dressing gown was ripped open by his impatient hands.
Hermione fought against him, half pushing, half-pulling, but crying uncontrollably.
Snape grasped her by the wrists, forcing her bum to sit upon the sink. Realizing she was clutching something, he opened her palm and held the tiny vial in his own.
He looked at the vial, then at her, then back to the vial. His eyes were wild. Pulling her wrist up to his face, Snape peppered her skin with soft kisses and murmured, “This is twenty times the gift I could ever dream of giving you.”
Dreamless Sleep…
The effects were already taking hold of her senses. Hermione was truly afraid now. “This isn’t fair.”
“Don’t start with that rubbish again.”
Before Hermione could sluggishly protest again, her mouth was seized. Snape practically wrapped his entire being around her. Devouring her lips and tongue, his arms held her firmly, hands trailing past her hips and along her thighs to wrap them tightly around his waist.
Hermione whimpered continuously. There was no violence in the way he touched her. Not like the other times. Everything in this encounter was so breathtakingly passionate and sensuous, it hurt. Snape groaned against her ear like he couldn’t get enough of her.
Her heart would have truly melted in this man’s hands if it wasn’t for that one thing that ruined it.
Hermione’s limbs felt like lead.
There’s was always one thing with Snape...
Hermione was freely crying now. Snape issued soft sounds of comfort against her ear. Wrapping his arms around her immobile body, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
The last thing she remembered before falling into a comatose sleep was the image of her right leg raised in the air. Snape braced her calf upon his bare shoulder, repeatedly kissing the inside of her knee as he stroked himself above her.
*** *** ***
Hermione did not wake up screaming the next morning.
She wasn’t in the least bit of pain.
Birds chirped outside her window, forcing her eyes to snap open. She lay there without moving, body as numb as her emotions.
After a length of time passed, she finally dragged herself into the bathroom to wash the crust out of her hair.
*** *** ***
Snape disappeared for another stretch of time. Time Hermione could have used to report him to the Aurors.
But she never did.
Except to go to work, Hermione rarely left her flat now, so determined was she to catch Snape as he left his little ‘gifts.’
Ron had finally bullied her into dinner. He had grown so worried at her change in demeanor that he refused to leave her alone until they had a frank talk. Hermione refused to go to restaurant, instead insisting she do the cooking.
Chopping away at a head of lettuce, Hermione suddenly froze. Knife in hand, from the corner of her eye she noticed the shadows upon her tile floor shift slightly.
“Please… don’t,” was all she said, voice hard.
Hermione knew he was standing right behind her. The seconds passed painfully. She had expected Snape to snatch her by now but he didn’t.
Knife raised, Hermione turned around very slowly. Snape was in fact standing directly behind her, but far enough away that he couldn’t reach her.
His arms were crossed, head cocked to one side, hiding half of his face with his hair. He stared at Hermione long and hard, his expression impassive. After glancing at the knife in her hand, he shrugged his shoulders dismissively and turned around to leave.
His arm was seized.
“Don’t leave!” The knife dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
Back facing her, Snape spoke through gritted teeth. “You cannot have it both ways.”
“It doesn’t need to be like this.” She’d said these words to him before, but not with as much pleading in her voice.
Rotating on the spot, Snape smirked mockingly, laughter rumbling in his chest. But it died off just as suddenly as his hands grabbing her about the arms. “I don’t enjoy repeating myself. You don’t know me. Never have, never will. Has it ever crossed your mind that I thoroughly enjoy it like this?”
“Re-release me.”
He shook her hard.
“‘Let go, don’t leave, stop, harder’… Everything that comes out of your mouth is bliss. I wouldn’t enjoy you so thoroughly if you weren’t as insane as I am--”
“I am not insane!”
Snape roughly grasped her around the waist, throwing her upon the table while ripping her robes up around her thighs. Dinnerware crashed around them, shattering upon the floor. Screaming, Hermione kicked and scratched at any part of Snape she could reach, but suddenly stilled when his hand shoved between her thighs.
His fingers easily slid into her wetness.
“Say those words again. But this time, try to convince yourself… not me.”
Eyes clenched tight, mouth falling open, her entire body seemed to curl against him. Hermione couldn’t think or breathe. The pleasure was insanity itself. That realization struck her when her thighs slowly began to open with each stroke of his hand.
She fell back against the table with a loud, drawn out grown.
Snape pinched her where he knew it would hurt the most.
Hermione turned her face to the side, biting her lip to keep from screaming. That rumbling laugh of his—and the soothing touch of his fingers—told her it had been a good move.
It was difficult for Hermione to see Snape in this position. But from the clinking sounds of metal upon metal, she knew he was unbuckling his trousers.
Hermione held her breath, lying absolutely still, not displaying any emotion that might resemble pleasure or pain.
With one severe movement he was atop her. Within her. He licked at the tears trailing down her cheeks and with a voice full of heady approval, he said, “Good girl… you’re learning.”
End
Author’s Notes: That’s it! No mas. This fic is officially and completely DONE. I had this ending in mind when I had first written it, but decided to tame it down for LJ. Please tell me which ending you prefer.
-Thank you lovely reviewers! Your compliments, encouragement, (and yes, criticism) helped me continue this. Thank you to use2b2t2, Heidi191976, Chyara, A Dangerous Angel, didi, TenderQuaintWitch, SnapesPet30, Killer Kadoogan, Vixen, Tenar10r, lemontwist, TenderQuaintWitch, Kade, SnapesPet30, Mmajere!!!
“Tell me,” Snape commanded, looming over her.
When Hermione failed to respond, Snape finally sank into her wetness, deep and slow. She threw her head back, eyes closing languidly as her mouth feel open. Anything…
“Promise…” Hermione mewed unexpectedly when his movements reached a steady rhythm. “Promise you’ll say goodbye before you leave.” Her arms flailed above her until she located a solid corner of the headboard for her clenched fists.
Severus breathed heavily against her ear. His words issued out of his mouth stiffly, syllables exaggerated with each thrust against her. “Yes… I… pro—” It had been far too long for him. “I—I will…”
Snape grasped Hermione’s headboard with a groan, alleviating the weight off his shaking knees.
They’d been at this awhile, and his joints were beginning to protest. Breathing heavily, Snape looked down, taking in the sight of the exhausted woman beneath him. Perspiration drenched every inch of her skin, saturating her hairline. Hermione’s neck and chest were flushed, no doubt from the combination of pleasure and ever increasing pain.
She had expected him to reach release long before now; Snape hadn’t. He’d merely wanted to observe how long she’d continue before asking him to stop.
A sardonic laugh rumbled in his throat at the realization that Hermione probably never would.
Brushing his face against her ear, Severus rasped, “I take it this meets your approval?” He pushed into her hard and steady, dragging his pelvis against her sensitivity each time he pulled out.
Throwing her head back, Hermione released a guttural sound bursting with frustration.
She was so very close… And Snape knew it too. That mocking laugh returned with intensity, strange and frightening.
“This has been fun, but I think I’ve had enough.”
Hermione tensed under him, her satisfaction rapidly decreasing. But despite Snape’s words, his onslaught upon her, within her, around her… he was reinvigorated.
Snape groaned even louder, face reddening.
“You’re—are you leaving?” she asked, her voice insecure.
“Eventually… ah, but I have a promise to keep, don’t I?”
“What—?”
Snape grasped her around the throat, and squeezed, forcing her into silence. He kissed her hard and without emotion before whispering against her lips, “… goodbye.”
Hours later, Hermione woke up screaming.
Unlike all the other times she had done so, this wasn’t from a realistic nightmare or reliving memories of the war.
Naked and filthy, she shot up in bed—only keel over just as quickly, in pain.
Face down upon her mattress, Hermione clutched at her throbbing abdomen, and her screaming began anew.
Days turned into weeks with no sign of Severus Snape, forcing Hermione into combat with her emotions.
She feared her own home. Knowing that the wizard could easily come and go as he pleased, Hermione couldn’t find sleep.
Some nights, when she realized she had been staring into the darkness for hours, she’d rise from bed and go out into her patio. Leaning upon the railing, she’d stare down into the quiet, peaceful streets of Diagon Alley until her mind began to play tricks with her.
Shadowy figures stepped out of alleys and looked back at her, wrapped in long black robes. Every time she blinked, they were gone.
Day after day, week after week, Hermione would return to work and greet the same smiling faces.
She’d complete the same tedious work.
Walking home each night, Hermione’d pass by familiar shops, the very ones she used to look forward to visiting when she was a student. After entering into small talk with the invariable clerks, she’d purchase her favorite foods and wine.
And each night, shopping bags in each hand, Hermione would pause in front of her building and just look at it.
Why didn’t she move? Why didn’t she make a report to the Aurors? Or in the very least, ask Harry for help or place to stay?
Hermione already knew the answer…
She feared her home.
“The memorial thing is finally scheduled. Last weekend of the month,” Ron offered cautiously. He held his cup of tea in front of him, looking at it more often than he drank.
“I’m aware,” Hermione replied.
It had been months since the two of them had broken off their engagement. Neither nurtured the hope they’d ever achieve an absolute reconciliation, but they couldn’t ignore each other for the rest of their lives. They’d shared far too much. As much as seeing one another hurt the two of them, staying completely away had hurt more.
“Hermione…”
“Don’t.”
Ron leaned forward, glancing around the restaurant for prying faces. “Don’t you shush me! I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t concerned.”
“Please, Ron—”
“What’s been going on with you? You told me—once—that Snape’s alive… that he was stalking you. And now you act like none of it happened, going along with the plans for the memorial! Why hasn’t he come forward? Why haven’t you—?”
Hermione was so determined not hear anymore, she kicked at the table in her dismayed attempt not to yell, turning over the tea service. Yanking on her cloak with violent movements, she left the restaurant without a word.
By the time she reached her building, Ron had finally caught up to her.
He didn’t ask any more questions. Not one sound was uttered. He permitted Hermione to fight his grip upon her elbow until she finally allowed his arms to wrap around her.
Ron knew her so well; he would have been frightened if she hadn’t started crying the way she did. He also knew the right questions to ask now, but couldn’t imagine putting such things into words.
Arms still tightly around her, he walked Hermione to her door. He had yet to return her key; she had yet to ask for it.
Thinking she needed a lie down, Ron ushered her into the bedroom. Hermione finally pulled out of his arms, turning towards the bed. A distressed sound tore out of her. Hermione fled to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door.
Dumbfounded, Ron stood in place in the middle of the room, unaware as to a proper reaction. The high keening issuing from behind the bathroom door was a sound he had never heard before.
Sitting upon her bed, Ron found what must have been the catalyst to this break down.
A single, long stemmed rose lay upon the pillow. He would have jealously wondered as to the romantic insinuations behind the gift… if it wasn’t dried up. What must have once been a beautiful, deep-red bud was now black and shriveled. The image was awful, made worse by a note that read:
The bathroom door finally opened.
Ron turned to the body braced in the doorframe, his expression masked with horror. In his innocence and genuine worry, Ron’s assumption of the worst was not the same as hers.
“It’s not from… I would never…”
Hermione wiped at her face before speaking. Not until he saw the emotion behind her eyes did Ron realize her wild tears weren’t ones of sorrow.
“I know,” she said with a smile.
A middling number of witches and wizards had attended the memorial at Hogwarts. Hermione wasn’t surprised in the least.
What had surprised her was that all of the surviving Order members attended. While many had never and would never refer to Severus Snape as a friend, they were still appalled by how much of the man’s life had been kept in the dark. Such as the memories he had given Harry. No one had known how long Snape spied for Dumbledore, nor the treatment he had received at the hands of Voldemort. But because the wizard was no longer here to judge them, righteous anger lay heavily upon Harry, Hermione, and Ron for the circumstances surrounding Snape’s death.
For the first time in nearly seven years, Harry’s name was once again in the papers, painted in a critical light.
Hermione thought the three of them deserved this and more, despite what had happened a few months ago.
She no longer possessed quixotic illusions of Severus Snape. Hermione had finally separated his sacrificial actions from the disturbed man he truly was.
He’d been watching her sleep. Of this, she was certain. There was no doubt he followed her comings and goings, because every time Hermione shared her lunch hour with Ron, she’d find a new… gift… on her pillow.
Except now, he would leave them sometime in the middle of night where she'd find them in the morning.
The last one had been an antique diary. Based on the numerous shelves of books in her room, Snape knew Hermione collected diaries for their workmanship, not for her desire to fill them. Like the rose and few other items, she would have thought the sentiment behind the gift attentive—if it wasn’t for that one thing that made Snape’s intentions perverse.
This diary, for example, was already full. From the few pages she had read, Hermione gathered that it used to belong to the young daughter of a Death Eater in the late 60s. The witch detailed the various wizards she was forced to ‘entertain’ during the parties her family threw in honor of Voldemort.
Disgusted, Hermione slammed the book closed, possessing half a mind to throw it away.
She smoothed her hand over the leather surface, eyes glazed in contemplation.
Forgetting—dismissing—ignoring her previous thoughts, Hermione arose from the desk and crossed her bedroom. She placed the diary with the rest of her collection, one shelf bellow a dry, black rose.
After a lengthy shower, Hermione combed out her hair and stood before the mirror. She gazed at her reflection for a long time until her chin ultimately dropped in defeat.
The image before her was terrible. She could not continue working these long hours on so little sleep.
Opening her personal cabinet, Hermione reached for one of the dozens of potions she had brewed herself. Her hand hesitated in the air. After opening and closing her fist, Hermione glanced at her reflection one more time, and finally retrieved a small vial.
With one movement, Hermione clenched her eyes, yanking the cork from the vial, and downing the contents in one quick gulp.
The sound of her personal cabinet closing on its own accord forced Hermione to look up.
There was a second pair of eyes gazing at her in the mirror, shrouded between two curtains of long, greasy hair.
Hermione couldn’t move.
Her mouth opened, inhaling sharply as if to scream, yell, cry… she did not know what. But before she had the chance, Snape completely pressed himself against her backside. One arm came around her, sliding along her collarbone and into her dressing grown. He held her left breast with delicate fingers, stimulating her nipple against his calloused palm.
His other hand squeezed her thigh, grinding her bum against his hardness already pressed there. Leaning down, cold nose pressed behind her ear, Snape inhaled deep and whispered, “… missed this.”
Hermione looked at the vial in her palm and cried, “Gods… no!”
“No?” Snape laughed. “You’ve been waiting for me, don’t deny it. Every night, you stand on your balcony, hoping to catch one glimpse… My tokens of ardor are strewn about your room. You’ve been waiting for me.”
“I’d expected this long before now.” The last words squeaked out of Hermione’s mouth on a high note when the hand messaging her thigh slipped between her legs.
“That pathetic little stunt you pulled with The Quibbler has made things difficult for me. But… you at least managed to keep my existence to yourself, why is that? Why haven’t you reported me to the Aurors?”
“I don’t… know.”
Severus growled through clenched teeth, grasping her wrist and forcing her to turn around and face him.
Looking up at his tall, imposing figure, Hermione forced herself to sound stern. “I want you to leave. Now.”
He smirked to himself, trailing his index finger along her jaw, down her neck… by the time he reached her chest, the dressing gown was ripped open by his impatient hands.
Hermione fought against him, half pushing, half-pulling, but crying uncontrollably.
Snape grasped her by the wrists, forcing her bum to sit upon the sink. Realizing she was clutching something, he opened her palm and held the tiny vial in his own.
He looked at the vial, then at her, then back to the vial. His eyes were wild. Pulling her wrist up to his face, Snape peppered her skin with soft kisses and murmured, “This is twenty times the gift I could ever dream of giving you.”
Dreamless Sleep…
The effects were already taking hold of her senses. Hermione was truly afraid now. “This isn’t fair.”
“Don’t start with that rubbish again.”
Before Hermione could sluggishly protest again, her mouth was seized. Snape practically wrapped his entire being around her. Devouring her lips and tongue, his arms held her firmly, hands trailing past her hips and along her thighs to wrap them tightly around his waist.
Hermione whimpered continuously. There was no violence in the way he touched her. Not like the other times. Everything in this encounter was so breathtakingly passionate and sensuous, it hurt. Snape groaned against her ear like he couldn’t get enough of her.
Her heart would have truly melted in this man’s hands if it wasn’t for that one thing that ruined it.
Hermione’s limbs felt like lead.
There’s was always one thing with Snape...
Hermione was freely crying now. Snape issued soft sounds of comfort against her ear. Wrapping his arms around her immobile body, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
The last thing she remembered before falling into a comatose sleep was the image of her right leg raised in the air. Snape braced her calf upon his bare shoulder, repeatedly kissing the inside of her knee as he stroked himself above her.
Hermione did not wake up screaming the next morning.
She wasn’t in the least bit of pain.
Birds chirped outside her window, forcing her eyes to snap open. She lay there without moving, body as numb as her emotions.
After a length of time passed, she finally dragged herself into the bathroom to wash the crust out of her hair.
Snape disappeared for another stretch of time. Time Hermione could have used to report him to the Aurors.
But she never did.
Except to go to work, Hermione rarely left her flat now, so determined was she to catch Snape as he left his little ‘gifts.’
Ron had finally bullied her into dinner. He had grown so worried at her change in demeanor that he refused to leave her alone until they had a frank talk. Hermione refused to go to restaurant, instead insisting she do the cooking.
Chopping away at a head of lettuce, Hermione suddenly froze. Knife in hand, from the corner of her eye she noticed the shadows upon her tile floor shift slightly.
“Please… don’t,” was all she said, voice hard.
Hermione knew he was standing right behind her. The seconds passed painfully. She had expected Snape to snatch her by now but he didn’t.
Knife raised, Hermione turned around very slowly. Snape was in fact standing directly behind her, but far enough away that he couldn’t reach her.
His arms were crossed, head cocked to one side, hiding half of his face with his hair. He stared at Hermione long and hard, his expression impassive. After glancing at the knife in her hand, he shrugged his shoulders dismissively and turned around to leave.
His arm was seized.
“Don’t leave!” The knife dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
Back facing her, Snape spoke through gritted teeth. “You cannot have it both ways.”
“It doesn’t need to be like this.” She’d said these words to him before, but not with as much pleading in her voice.
Rotating on the spot, Snape smirked mockingly, laughter rumbling in his chest. But it died off just as suddenly as his hands grabbing her about the arms. “I don’t enjoy repeating myself. You don’t know me. Never have, never will. Has it ever crossed your mind that I thoroughly enjoy it like this?”
“Re-release me.”
He shook her hard.
“‘Let go, don’t leave, stop, harder’… Everything that comes out of your mouth is bliss. I wouldn’t enjoy you so thoroughly if you weren’t as insane as I am--”
“I am not insane!”
Snape roughly grasped her around the waist, throwing her upon the table while ripping her robes up around her thighs. Dinnerware crashed around them, shattering upon the floor. Screaming, Hermione kicked and scratched at any part of Snape she could reach, but suddenly stilled when his hand shoved between her thighs.
His fingers easily slid into her wetness.
“Say those words again. But this time, try to convince yourself… not me.”
Eyes clenched tight, mouth falling open, her entire body seemed to curl against him. Hermione couldn’t think or breathe. The pleasure was insanity itself. That realization struck her when her thighs slowly began to open with each stroke of his hand.
She fell back against the table with a loud, drawn out grown.
Snape pinched her where he knew it would hurt the most.
Hermione turned her face to the side, biting her lip to keep from screaming. That rumbling laugh of his—and the soothing touch of his fingers—told her it had been a good move.
It was difficult for Hermione to see Snape in this position. But from the clinking sounds of metal upon metal, she knew he was unbuckling his trousers.
Hermione held her breath, lying absolutely still, not displaying any emotion that might resemble pleasure or pain.
With one severe movement he was atop her. Within her. He licked at the tears trailing down her cheeks and with a voice full of heady approval, he said, “Good girl… you’re learning.”
Author’s Notes: That’s it! No mas. This fic is officially and completely DONE. I had this ending in mind when I had first written it, but decided to tame it down for LJ. Please tell me which ending you prefer.
-Thank you lovely reviewers! Your compliments, encouragement, (and yes, criticism) helped me continue this. Thank you to use2b2t2, Heidi191976, Chyara, A Dangerous Angel, didi, TenderQuaintWitch, SnapesPet30, Killer Kadoogan, Vixen, Tenar10r, lemontwist, TenderQuaintWitch, Kade, SnapesPet30, Mmajere!!!