Duck Duck Goose

Duck . . . Duck . . . Goose!



By MysticSlave







Chapter 8: Want to See My Wand?



Disclaimer: We own nothing but the story concepts. All HP characters and similarities to the books are JK’s. Much to our disappointment.





Author’s Note:



We decided to speed things up a little bit by skipping a few days here and there; no need to discuss every single day.



Yes, Severus is a smart man and he would, in theory, understand what is happening with Hermione’s body, but he has no practical experience for the upcoming situation to handle it correctly.







Love MysticSlave















The days passed slowly; far too slowly as far as Severus and Hermione were concerned, considering their predicament. They gradually became used to the idiosyncrasies of each other and Severus, under the guise of being under apprentice to the Potions Master – something that had not gone over well with Malfoy – was gradually losing his abject horror at his fate at the hands of Professor McGonagall a few weeks back. Though she had been quite disappointed at the loss of her evening entertainment, she was quite proud that her favourite student had managed to convince, Merlin only knows how, the dour Potions Master into accepting her apprenticeship.











Severus was sitting at his usual place in the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table, coffee in one hand, fork in the other, staring grumpily at his breakfast. He couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to eat this morning.







Harry suddenly sat down next to him. “Mione, are you okay?”







He just shook his head. Harry leaned closer and put a gentle hand on his back, rubbing in small circles. Severus was in too much pain to flinch away from the Golden Boy’s touch. ‘Merlin that feels good,’ he thought despairingly. Harry handed him a large bar of Honeyduke’s Chocolate. “Here, I know you’ll need this by the end of the day. I picked it up for you the last time I was in Hogsmeade.”



Severus couldn’t figure out why Harry thought he would need chocolate, but he’d never turn a bar of it down. He mumbled his thanks and slipped it into his pocket.







His throat itched a bit and he coughed to clear it. He started in surprise. What had that been? He coughed again, tentatively. There it was . . . a feeling of detachment and then a warm trickling down his left leg. ‘What in the world?’ He slipped a hand under the table, as if to scratch his knee, and swiped at the fluid on his leg. Discretely he brought his fingers back up to his lap to examine the evidence. ‘Merlin, I’m bleeding! What in tarnation am I bleeding for?’







“I’m dying!”







Harry looked down at his hand and shuddering a bit, handed him a napkin. He took it dumbly. ‘Crikey, did I say that out loud?’







“Came sooner than you thought, huh, Hermione? At least you’ve got your long robes on. Hurry back up and change before class; you’ve got more than enough time.”







He looked at his now reddish napkin, nodded briefly to Harry, and made his escape, praying no one else had noticed.







Harry carefully took the napkin and wrapped it up in another one so that no one would be the wiser. ‘Merlin am I glad guys don’t have to deal with that,’ he thought, having no idea how ironic that was at the moment.











Back in his rooms, he stripped off his robes, draping them carelessly over his chair, before removing the lower half of his clothes. It was quite messy. He sighed and took everything off, deciding that a quick bath was in order.







He sighed. The warm water felt wonderful on his back. He ached terribly as if he’d been hit by a minor bout of crucio.







He sank more deeply into the tub as his body relaxed. Quite a bit later, he sat up, scrubbed himself clean, and clambered out of the tub, his lips curling in disdain as the pinkish water swirled down the drain. He wondered if Hermione had merely forgotten to inform him that her cycle was approaching or if the impudent little chit had purposely left out this helpful bit of information.







Severus searched high and low through Hermione’s toiletries but could not find anything that appeared useful for his current state of affairs. Sighing, he bundled a bit of toilet paper together and made due with that after dressing in fresh clothes. He shoved his books, wand, parchment, and homework into his knapsack, and after a moment, added the candy bar as well. He sank down onto the edge of his bed with a sigh as new spasms of pain wracked through his body. He might be used to enduring terrible cruelty, but Hermione’s body was not. Suddenly his head snapped up. What time was it? “Bloody hell! I’m going to be late for Potions! Hermione is going to kill me!” The irony of the situation was not lost on him; he did not, however find it amusing. He gathered up his bag and raced for the dungeons.











He raced through the halls, heedless of the rules, praying he wouldn’t encounter Filch, and skidded breathlessly to a stop in front of his classroom. The door was already closed. He swore silently to himself and pulled the door slowly open. He tried to slip into his seat without arising any undue attention from the Slytherins or Hermione herself, but alas, he had no such luck.







Hermione was instantly at his desk, long fingers splayed on either side of him with palms pressed firmly against the desk. “You’re late, Miss Granger,” she hissed at him, “you should be more careful or you’ll find yourself sans apprenticeship and you’ll have to find something else to occupy your evenings with. Perhaps detention with your Head of House would be appropriate?”







He shrank down visibly into himself, noticing Harry shooting nasty glances at the professor, in his stead. He had to admit that Hermione was doing a beyond admirable job at keeping up his appearance. He still didn’t like being on the receiving end of it, however.







“Leave her alone, Professor Snape,” spat Harry, “she doesn’t feel well.”







“Unless Miss Granger is unconscious or dead, Mr. Potter, you’ll find that sick doesn’t hold much significance with me.”







Hermione turned and strode back to her desk. “Oh, and Mr. Potter?” she intoned with her back to the class, “Ten points from Gryffindor for your unasked for input.”







At the end of class, Severus stayed after to talk with Hermione. He had to reassure Harry that he would be fine and deftly shooed him out the door. Neither of them would ever live it down if anyone heard the forthcoming discussion.











When the last student had exited the room, Severus quickly shut the door, whipped out his wand and cast a strong locking and silencing charm on it.







Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Something bothering you, Severus?”







“Yes, Hermione, there is something bothering me. Did you just forget to tell me you were close to your menses or was it an intentional lapse in your memory?”







Hermione stifled her urge to snicker, schooling her face into a blank mask; something this body was quite adept at, even if the person inhabiting it wasn’t.







“I’m so sorry, Severus!” she exclaimed, hoping she sounded convincing, “With all the distraction of learning how to function as you, it totally slipped my mind. I usually don’t think about it because my body warns me when it’s coming; but obviously I didn’t get the warnings this time . . . you did.”







Severus scowled. “Breakfast was most humiliating, Miss Granger,” he intoned, his voice clipped and precise. “I leaked blood down my leg, Harry noticed and gave me suggestions while he rubbed my back and offered me chocolate!”







Hermione smiled. “Harry always was more understanding than the other boys. Ron freaks out if he even suspects and calls me gross.”







‘Well, it is rather gross; at least the feeling was when the excruciating pain was absent,’ thought Severus, ‘but it’s not like it’s something she can help,’ he acknowledged. “Well, I always knew that Weas – Ron wasn’t as sophisticated as he might be.”







Hermione couldn’t decide if she was amused or not and chose to make no remarks.







“Surely you didn’t stay after class to tell me how embarrassed you were, did you, Severus?”







“No, of course not, you silly girl! I’ve never had to deal with this; your beloved helps all the girls when they reach this stage in life. I don’t know what to do and I certainly can’t ask Minerva! Not to mention the agonizing pain I am in, which your body is not adequately capable of handling.”







“Wasn’t there a box of tampons available? I was sure I had some left.”







“Tampons?”







Hermione sighed. She conjured the box from her room and showed it to Severus. Then she explained what to do with them, how often to change them, and what could happen if you didn’t. Severus paled and sat down abruptly. His head dropped to the desk in front of him.





Hermione smirked. This was hilarious. She was also quite relieved to be blessed with the luck of skipping at least one of her cycles without having to be pregnant to achieve it.







While Severus regained his bearings, Hermione slipped into the storeroom and brought out several vials of a pain draught which she handed to Severus.







He thanked her, somewhat diffidently, and slipped out of the room; box of tampons hidden carefully in his robes along with the vials.











Two days later, Hermione’s cycle fully kicked in. ‘I will never, ever say that women cannot handle pain like men can. Or at least not Hermione, in any case!’ He was utterly miserable. One evening in despair, he slipped down to the dungeons to refill his pain draught vials which he had used with alarming speed.







“Hermione!”







She whipped around. “Yes?” she drawled.







“There’s . . . there’s something wrong with your body! It’s hemorrhaging!”







Hermione winced. “I suppose you wouldn’t be very happy if I said I forget to tell you about that too?”







Severus simply glared at her.







“I know it is . . . uncomfortable, but it is completely natural for my body to need 5-6 super plus tampons a day in the start of the cycle. It will peter down and become more normal. Be sure you eat a lot of red meat, though, or you’ll get anemic.”







‘No, he would never underestimate Hermione’s tolerance for pain again,’ Severus thought, once again humiliated over the discussion, even though he had honestly thought something was wrong or that he had done something that had caused her body to bleed to excessively. He was relieved to find that wasn’t the case, but was unable to find the words to say so. Hermione could see the relief on her face, however, and it was enough.



























The weeks passed. Hermione and Severus were now so set into their new lives that at times both felt that they had always been this way. Hermione had discovered, a bit to her embarrassment, that there was some joy in being snarky and getting away with it because it was expected of you. She wondered if Severus was lonely though, and then she wondered why she cared. If she looked into her heart, though, she would admit that she had come to consider the man a friend and that she didn’t like to think of him as being alone.







She had gradually adapted to having a male body. That had taken longer than anything else in this peculiar charade. She had learned to relieve herself in correct fashion, and was able to wash without feeling appalled. She had become proficient at the erectus redeo charm; though it was beginning to leave her feeling drained and hollow. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be used quite so often, but a cold shower wasn’t always an option, and, well . . . could she even follow through on her other choice?







That evening found ‘Severus’ seated next to Minerva. The Deputy Headmistress was prattling on about her Gryffindors, especially her prize student, and just how was she doing in her apprentice and did it really have to take place every night?











Hermione sighed. She was sure that Severus would have tuned out most of what Minerva had said, so she snubbed the woman until mention of the apprenticeship came up.







“Surely, Minerva,” she drawled, “you are aware of how uninterested I am in taking a student apprentice, particularly one from any other house but Slytherin.” This a statement, not a question, and she continued on before Minerva could retort. “We are working on some very powerful potions and since she is insistent on going on to become a Potions Mistress, I had little choice but to accept her. She needs to work every night for an unknown amount of time until we get the results I am looking for,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.







Minerva sighed. “As you see fit, Severus,” she said a bit despondently, and Hermione instantly felt repentant for her harsh tones, but knew better than to let them show on her face, “I just hate to see her fall behind in the special training I was giving her.”







“And just what might that be, Minerva?”







“She’s learning the transformations and charm necessary to be an animagus, Severus.” She eyed him for a moment before continuing in a much softer voice. “Something I believe you quite understand the difficulty of if done on one’s own.”







Hermione scowled at her. Between Minerva and Albus, there was little probability of anyone keeping a secret within these hallowed wards.







Minerva winked, knowing she was correct in assuming that Severus had taught himself; it was the wink that was Hermione’s undoing. She took a sudden deep breath, catching her lover’s scent so strongly she could nearly taste her. The wink, meant to be friendly between colleagues, reminded her of the nights of sweet teasing in Minerva’s chambers. She was instantly aroused and was filled with longing for a release that her now standard charm couldn’t bring.







With great effort, she waited for the Great Hall to empty and then made her way quickly back to her private chambers where she quickly stripped down, drew back the covers, and slipped into bed.







She squeezed her eyes shut, steeled herself, and reached blindly towards her lower torso. She’d read that women had more nerve endings in their . . . well, then men did in that area, but when her hand barely brushed her arousal, that thought and any others that didn’t relate specifically to how good it felt, left her head faster than obliviate works.







Self-pleasurement was nothing new to Hermione; just the path to success differed this time around. But seeing as this body reacted to what came across as flirting from Minerva, she felt that thoughts of the lovely Deputy Headmistress would suffice to fulfill her deep feeling of arousal and longing that had plighted her these many weeks.







The flesh surrounding . . . her member felt no different than that of the rest of her body; smoother perhaps, there was no scarring here, and warm. Very warm. She lay back on the bed, her hand simply holding herself; it was already producing quite pleasant results. She felt it in her groin, a warm tingling that spread upwards into her stomach with buttery warmth and anticipation.







She grew firmer, ever so slightly, but noticeably. She giggled, faintly; in both amusement and delight.







She softly stroked herself. It was very pleasant and relaxing to simply lie in bed with no goal in mind but your own satisfaction. As learned as she was, she had truly had no idea what the ... result would be or how long it would take to bring release.







Her body’s long suffering torment under the erection reduction charm, which removed the embarrassing tent but left a hollow, empty feeling, and certainly no pleasure, coupled with however long the professor had sustained his celibacy, quickened Hermione’s experimentation. She began to moan and writhe with ecstasy, thanking Merlin that the professor had extraordinarily strong silencing charms on his chambers.







She was quite hard now, and, from what she could imagine, impressive in size. She shifted her hand, nearly jumping as the unexpected waves of bliss poured through her as her hand touched the more sensitive underside and tip. Encouraged, she massaged the tip further, curious as it slowly dripped glistened clear drops. The moisture lubricated the soft skin and enhanced her pleasure.







Her member bobbed of its own accord when she briefly let go to move into a more comfortable position, and she felt her impending need increase. She sat up slightly, and reached for herself again, feeling more inquisitive, less edgy, and caressed herself from base to tip, shuddering in feeling. She felt . . . powerful.







She was breathing faster and felt quite flushed, her hair was matted to her head, and she brushed it out of her face, tucking it behind her ears, too intent, now, on what she was doing, to seek out a spell in her mind that would simply hold her hair in place.







Hermione sat up slightly, stroking faster now, the urge great upon her. She felt a rhythm building, and as she drew nearer to culmination, felt her . . . balls, her hazy brain finding no better word, draw up closer to her body, her hips twitched, and she felt herself lurch and strain within her grasp, as the intensity peaked and she came in great, powerful bursts.







She hissed with pleasure, simultaneously gasping for breath, moaning Minerva’s name over and over, her hand still wrapped around herself and she felt it, slowly, ever so slowly, soften and lay still against her thigh.







Hermione stared glassily at the wall, her body, her bed, the sheets, slowly focusing on the mess she had made and reached a tentative finger out to touch the still warm eruption.







It didn’t seem to feel any different than she remembered her own body’s release feeling. She brought a long finger to her face, breathing in the musky, tangy odor of Severus’ sex, and took a tentative taste.







Her eyebrows suddenly quirked upwards and she shook herself. “Oh my God!” The thought reverberated in her mind. “I just tasted Professor Snape!! What in Merlin’s name was I thinking? I know what I was feeling, but what was I thinking? Nothing, evidently.” Hermione buried her blushing face in her hands, feeling utterly mortified, exceedingly glad that no one could see her, as she tried to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that whispered muzzily, ‘but it wasn’t so bad, Hermione, now was it?’ She shook her head, not knowing if she wanted to answer that thought, not knowing what to do now that she had reached such a point while inhabiting her professor’s body, and unsure what to do now that it had passed. Her body knew, however, and she soon drifted off into an even, relaxed slumber.









Hermione woke up a short time later feeling very refreshed and a bit embarrassed. Particularly when she realized she was having difficulties detaching herself from her sheets. A quick cleaning charm rectified the matter and she padded her way into the shower where she examined her body carefully for the first time.







She wondered if this counted as seducing a professor and then decided it didn’t really matter since she’d been seduced by one herself, and Merlin only knows what Severus had been forced to do in her body.







Deciding she could forego one evening of patrolling, she slid back into her still warm sheets and drifted off.