Slytherin Ways II

Slytherin Ways II (Hermione’s Tale)
By April Grey

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

A/N: Susan and Negative Nine suggested this to me. It is Hermione’s version of what happened in Slytherin Ways. It is strongly advised that you read the other story first as this one is not a very strong story—rather it is more a conceit or a curiosity than anything else. Whereas Slytherin Ways can stand ts ots own, this is merely a footnote for the beeky with a nod to James’ Portrait of a Lady.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“You’ve never talked to anyone about this before have you?”

“No, Harry.”

“Why now?” He took another sip of his butterbeer and waited while I dabbed my eyes.

&&&

Why?

That afternoon I had wheeled him into his garden. I feared that it was a useless gesture. Where before he could at least see shadows, it seemed he lived in total darkness now and was unresponsive to all the life that surrounded him. I touched his hand and then held it. He didn’t react. So many years of clinging to life by a thread and now I saw how close that thread was to snapping.

I bit my lip so that I would not cry out. Yet I was uncertain if he could even hear me. I kissed his skeletal hand and then I summoned all my courage and kissed him on his lips.

He was cold, so very cold. I knew my advances were unwelcome, merely tolerated at best. Hadn’t he said so, four years ago? The night when he saved Harry and I, in turn, saved his life?

I could accept that he didn’t love me. But I could never accept losing him.

Severus Snape was never a kind or tender man, yet he was special to me. He was my first lover, or should I say sexual partner, because we came together not out of love but through necessity.

Ron and Harry always said that being the last virgin at Hogwarts in my seventh year was my own bloody fault—my fault for being too direct and too intelligent. Puts the Wizards off every time, they’d agree.

“Just fake being stupid,” said Ron.

“Hermione, it really takes the wind out of a man’s sails to know that he hasn’t a chance of winning—not in anything with you.”

Thus my dear friends explained why I’d never have a man, unless I changed my ways.

Stubborn. Yes, they’ve also accused me of that. But it all saved a man’s life, so maybe it was worth it after all? I was not sure where to start telling Harry this story. And I’m not often uncertain. So I thought about it… What should I say to him?

It was the summer before that terrible last year at Hogwarts. Lord Voldemort had built his army and the Wizarding World was more polarized than ever. It looked bad, but at the same time, life went on. So it was that I had arranged to meet with Ron and Harry in Diagon Alley before we were to proceed to spend the remainder of our summer at Grimmauld Place. I wanted to spend some time at the bookshop, Flourish and Blott’s, and they as usual wanted to spend time at the Quidditch shop. And so we went our separate ways, with an agreement to meet for ice cream and other refreshments at 3 PM.

I was enjoying myself amid the books when a slight fellow, wearing a seedy, orange robe and a chartreuse Wizard’s hat came over to me.

“You are Hermione Granger,” he said. “I recognize you from the papers.”

“And you are?”

“Hush, people will hear you.” He looked around.

“Do I know you?”

“You knew my cousin, Peter,” he said slowly. “No, please, I am William Pettigrew, but I’m not like Peter at all!”

He was much thinner than Peter Pettigrew, but he had the same coloring and the same rat like manner.

“Please leave me alone,” I said.

“Not until I have made an offer. You see, you have a reputation for loving books. I read that in Witches Weekly. And I find that with things getting hot, you can’t deny it, they are-- I need to flee the country, for less heated climes, if you take my meaning?” He was looking around him, making sure that no one was paying attention to us.

I nodded.

“I have a carton of magazines and books. Mostly they belonged to Peter. He left them with me and never returned to collect them. I need money to leave the country. Ten Galleons and they are yours!”

Now, I looked around as well. It was busy there in Flourish and Blott’s, but no one was in hearing range. “How much did you say?” I whispered.

“Ten Galleons,” he said, his vocal tone matching mine.

“How do I know that this isn’t a trap?” I looked about again, but felt silly. It wasn’t like the Death Eaters would attack here in broad daylight.

“A trap? A trap? I’m the one in danger here, not you little girl.”

“I’m sorry, but one can’t be—“

“Five Galleons. And the box is right there by the cash register. Can you see it?”

I nodded. It wasn’t a very large box. But of course, having books in it, the owner of the shop had kept it up front. He obviously didn’t trust his own anti-theft charms. I withdrew five Galleons from my pocket and handed to the man. His eyes lit up.

“Thank you, Missy. You won’t regret it. Just don’t peach on me to the Aurors or your friends. I’m leaving the country this afternoon.”

I didn’t say a word as he left the shop. I walked up to the register and took possession of my box. The owner frowned but said nothing. I was early to Fortescue’s and had a comfortable 45 minutes to myself to go through the box.

And it was a good thing that I did.

Pornography. It was filled with magazines featuring pictures of naked Witches and their familiars and Wizards all doing… I blushed furiously and sealed up the box.

That night we were all at Grimmauld Place and I waited for Ginny, my roommate, to fall asleep. Then I went through the box again. It held 26 copies of various prurient magazines and two books. The books were the prizes: “Tantra and other Sex Magics” and “The Dark Arts: an Encyclopedic Reference Guide.”

During every spare moment that summer I devoured the two books. I dared not try out any of the spells, but still I learned a great deal about the Dark Arts and about Sexual Magic. And containing forbidden and rare knowledge, I loved them even more.

Regarding the pornography, well as a virgin, I did do more than a bit of looking. I had known in general about sex, but I’d never seen a naked man. Now I could look and study them to my heart’s content. Some of the stories were obviously ridiculous, and I could have done without that one photo of the woman and the Hippogriff, but in general, I was secretly pleased that I probably knew more now about sex than Parvati or Lavender, they who always lorded it over me because I was still intact and unlikely to change my condition in the near future.

That was the summer of my sexual awakening. Imagination soaring, I discovered and explored the erotic side of my nature. Since, according to most of my friends, it was unlikely that I’d be having a partner anytime soon, I made good friends with my right hand.

My seventh year at Hogwarts was a bitter time. The NEWTs were never held because of the war. At times all classes stopped as fighting and skirmishes took us out of our roles as children and forced us to fight as adults. Slytherin was half empty-- the children removed by parents sympathetic to or afraid of Voldemort. There were other absences in houses besides Slytherin, but it was mostly that house.

Then the worst happened. There had been another skirmish, this time just outside of Hogsmeade and Harry was injured badly. He couldn’t wake up. Ron and I tried to go on as usual, but Ron wound up spending most of his time talking and reading to Harry in the infirmary, while I’d go to classes for all three of us.

I was crying in Potions again and Professor Snape told me to stay after class. I fully expected to be punished for my emotional outburst, but instead he smiled.

“You are upset about your friend, Potter.”

“Of course,” I replied.

“I have a plan to restore him,” his voice was silky and self-confident.

I said nothing. My mind raced. Yes, of course. Professor Snape bore the Dark Mark! My own knowledge of the Dark Arts from that one book had informed me that Harry’s condition was hopeless. But suddenly I knew that to be untrue. It would very likely cost Professor Snape his life to bring Harry back, but he could.

Professor Snape had been saying something, and I hadn’t been listening. I looked up at him.

“So, do you agree to help me?”

I smiled. “Anything Professor. Anything for Harry.”

“Be at my chambers this evening, then.”

I did not know what he would require of me. What it turned out to be was a purity test. I laugh now thinking on it. He would not take my word on the matter. Furthermore, he didn’t realize that I knew I was not needed for him to break the Dark Spell over Harry. On reflection, I decided that he must have been unwilling to admit to me that his life was at risk and that he needed a virgin for other purposes, namely to save his own life! Perhaps he thought that I wouldn’t sacrifice my virginity to save Professor Snape’s life?

I did not care. As long as he saved Harry, I would have submitted my body to Voldemort himself! Such was my sense of loyalty to my friend. That night, as I lay in my bed, I touched myself and tried to imagine what it would be like to render up my virginity to the professor.

He was an ugly man. And not just on the outside, he was also cruel and narrow-minded. Yet it seemed unbearably shallow to hold such things against him. I was old enough to no longer be impressed with the Lockhart’s of the world. And if he was cruel, well, he was also witty and possessed a sly sense of humor. There was much about him that I did find impressive.

I closed my eyes and mentally removed his clothing. My past year of staring at handsome, well-endowed Wizards from my secret stash of magazines, my legacy from Peter Pettigrew, allowed my mind to superimpose the body of an Adonis onto the neck of Professor Snape.

I laughed. No, no, no such luck. Judging from the way his robes hung off of him, he was perilously thin. Since the return of Voldemort, the professor had not been taking good care of himself at all. I again tried to imagine him without his clothes. I sighed this time. He looked like a scarecrow, with his ribcage showing under his sallow skin. Sadly, this was probably what I would see tomorrow night. I mentally prepared myself not to react to him at all. Whatever happened I would treat him with respect and kindness. After all, he was risking his life for Harry, someone he hated!

I went down to the professor’s chambers after a long night and day of nervous anticipation. I had hardly touched my meals. Winky was waiting for me with a sheer white robe to put on. Oh, it was cold down there, but I quickly changed and waited. I did not have to wait long.

He smiled, in a most non-reassuring way at me. All I could do was shiver and wonder how I’d ever manage to not laugh. My breasts were hard and pointed from the coolness of his chambers.

I could not help but ask, “Professor Snape, are you sure this will work?”

He repeated that it would. He also made uiteuite clear that he was not interested in me sexually at all. I felt some mild disappointment, as I was beginning to feel excited by the thought of him naked. It was a perverse pleasure, but having endured years of his verbal abuse and airs of superiority, I rather fancied the idea of him naked before me. Yes, somehow the thought was exciting to me.

I told him I would be forever in his debt if he saved Harry. I could tell that he was nervous and was searching for a way to avoid risking his life. But I would allow him no such option. Though it meant death for my professor, I still wanted my friend Harry back.

Watching him prepare the potion, I was now quite certain that my hymeneal blood was to be used in a restorative mixture that could, quite literally, put the stopper in death. I admired how neatly and artfully he prepared it. There was such elegance to the professor’s movements that it caught my breath.

Though he was as ugly as sin, there was also a grace and perfection to him which enthralled me.

He again repeated the lie he had manufactured to cover the fact that he was putting his life at risk. What is it they say? The better part of valor is discretion. My heart gave an extra beat at the though of this man’s heroism and courage.

He touched my face and told me to shut up. So very like the professor I had known. And then he bid me remove my gown. I hesitated a brief moment and then I did so.

An unrecognizable look twisted his face as I climbed on the bed. His bed! He placed the vessel that we would be using to collect our mingled blood and semen on the bedside table. I waited and then I asked him to take off his clothes.

He looked scared. Of all the feelings I thought I would experience that night, compassion was the last that I expected! And yet, that was what I felt. He was ashamed to be naked in front of me. Yet, here I was unclothed. And what was good for the goose had to be equally good for the gander.

I came off the bed and began to unbutton him. The gazed expression on his face was priceless. And it was in that singular moment of witnessing his vulnerability that I felt my heart change towards him! Not only did I feel wet and excited-- I was deeply cognizant that he was to be my first lover. Mine. I continued to undress him, more anxious than ever to witness him not as a professor, but as a man!

Dressed in his nightshirt, he looked so helpless that I almost cried for him. His knees were knobby, and his feet were laced in purple varicose veins!

I ignored his attempts to dissuade me from removing his final garment and revealed his chest. It was more pathetic than I could imagine. I’d seen pictures of Wizards with hairy chests, and Wizards with no chest hair at all, but his chest, it seemed to sink inwards of its own accord. I touched the few straggling hairs and then his bright pink nipples.

And suddenly, he kissed me on the side of my neck. I felt that I would faint on the spot, but instead I explored his body, touching his scars and the sinewy muscles on his back and legs. Finally, I sought out his manhood, only to find it soft and limp.

I sank to my knees and cradled the large and scraggly haired sac between his legs. This part of a man was so sensitive, if my reading materials were correct, that my touching it should have immediately incited lust in him. Nothing happened. I looked at his pale worm of a penis. It was creamy white threaded with pink and purple veins hidden just under the surface-- Such a disappointment after seeing the rampant stallion like cocks of the Wizards in those magazines. Still, this was for Harry, and we had to carry on!

I stood and before the impulse could escape me, I kissed him, thrusting my tongue between his thin lips.

Nothing!

I led him to the bed and proceeded to put to good use my readings in Tantra. We had to get the Kundalini energies up if we were to save Harry!

He moaned and whimpered as I flicked my tongue over his nipples. I kissed and nipped his earlobe and even suckled on his neck.

Nothing.

In desperation I sucked his penis into my mouth and allowed my tongue to rove about under and over, inserting the tip of my tongue into his little cleft.

Still nothing. I was very moist. I was so ready for him that I was pulsing. And nothing, nothing, nothing I tried worked.

He seemed to enjoy it. He made little animal mews of pleasure with each new attempt to harden him. Finally I could take it no longer.

I cried out in despair that we would never be able to save Harry. He asked me if I knew what potion we were making. I told the truth. Yes, I did know. And I redoubled my efforts at arousing him.

He yelled at me to get out! He couldn’t accept that I knew-- I knew his life was at risk. But we had to save Harry.

Of what I did next, I am not proud. I used one of the spells from the sex magic book forcforced him to an erection. Even then I knew it was wrong: it was raping him, and so, after going through the pain of destroying my own maidenhead I was ready to give up.

He asked me to leave and I was devastated. What of Harry? I screamed at him in a rage. Could I o hio hideous to him?

And he laughed at me. I cried. And I hit him, and cursed him. And miracle of miracles, he got hard!

I had forgotten that my lover was a cruel man. My anguish and upset was all that he needed. I threw myself into the role. I bit and scratched; I pretended to hate him. Rolling over me, he penetrated and fucked me hard. It was the most amazing sex I had ever had. He was rough and wild and I felt my own energies release as if I were some great feline!

I have tried since then to recreate the excitement of that first time with other Wizards, and simply it is as Harry and Ron always said: I scare men away.

Afterwards I left him to go wait by Harry’s side. And within moments of arriving at the infirmary, Harry was awake! My dear sweet friend returned to us.

I knew that Professor Snape would not wish to see me again, but I ran down to his dungeons anyway. I needed to be the one to tell him of our success.

I found him there in a crumpled heap. The potion that could save him sat untouched on the table next to him.

He was cold and grey, quite lifeless, but I pried his lips open and forced the potion in. I stroked his throat, much as if I were pilling a cat, and he eventually swallowed. Some color returned to his cheeks and lips as he gasped in his first breath.

Quite some time passed as I cradled his fragile body and cried. Eventually, the headmaster found us and forced me to let go so that he could be removed to St. Mungos.

I left Hogwarts that day and took a job in London to be close by this strange, yet noble man. Daily I sat by his side and searched for hope in those pale, thin features of his. And in a few months of the ministrations of various potions spe spells by the staff, he came to.

He was more dead than alive, but I did not care. I tried not to overwhelm him with my gratitude and, eventually, love. Still I was there everyday to check on his comfort. When it was obvious that St. Mungos could do no more for him, I arranged for his transfer to a small cottage in Hogsmeade. Though small, it had a tidy little garden, and though he was blind, I hoped that the fragrance of the flowers would lift his spirits.

&&&

I looked up to see how Harry was reacting to the heavily edited version I told him; the partial story that I was not too embarrassed to share. “He’s losing the battle. Harry, there’s got to be a way. I am in love with him!”

The look of regret in my friend’s eyes hurt me more than a diatribe. He took my hand in his.

“Hermione, sometimes you are a real idiot.”

I stared.

“It’s Snape. He’s a slimy, evil bastard.”

“What? Weren’t you listening?”

“Yes. And Professor McGonagall told me what had really happened years ago!”

“What do you mean?”

“He wasn’t being noble or brave. He wanted yocauscause you represented all that was good and decent. He wanted to destroy you to get back for having to help me.”

I felt the room spin about and then Harry’s hand on my shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“Then it was a willing act on both our parts! I hadn’t forced him.”

“He seduced you!”

I laughed with sheer elation, “He wanted me. The slimy, evil bastard wanted me!” I practically jumped with joy.

“Hermione?”

“All these years I lived with the guilt that the potion hadn’t worked as well as it should because he was unwilling. But no, the dark spell must have been too much for him.”

I kissed Harry on his cheek. “I know what to do now.”

“You do? And what is that?”

“Save my dear Severus!”

I hear Harry yell, “The git doesn’t deserve you!” as I ran out of the Three Broomsticks, nearly colliding with Hagrid as he entered.

I said “sorry” over my shoulder, and then once outside I Apparated home to my books. I spent the night pouring over the qualities of the Morsmordre and other dark marks. I was sure that the evil that lay on his arm was in someway draining him. The mark that had allowed him to save Harry was sucking his life away now that Voldemort was dead. All others who carried the mark had died when their Dark Lord did. Except for my love! The Vitality Elixir had stopped death for a while, but now we needed to remove the mark entirely.

And with Voldemort gone, I felt it could be done!

The sun had not ris risen when I returned to Hogsmeade. I used my key to let myself into his place. It was little more than a one-room cottage, but that made it easy for a wheelchair bound person to get about. The nurse had put him to bed hours ago and returned to her own family. I had offered to move in and sleep on a cot last year when he started to decline, but his reaction was so extreme that I never raised the issue again.

I listened for his breathing. Still alive, but so thready was his breath that I trembled in fear for him.

After laying out the materials for the ceremony, I took off my robes. While saying an incantation, I cut my arm and allowed my blood to flow freely into a cup.

I noted that my Severus was awake. He eyes were open, yet he said nothing. I continued the ceremony, using a spell to staunch the flow of blood before I became too weak. I added it to the small portable cauldron I had brought with me. I chopped various ingredients while murmuring blessings to strengthen their effects. Finally, I needed the last ingredient.

“Severus, can you hear me?”
rem remained motionless, just staring as he did so often now. I pulled back his blankets and lifted up his nightshirt. He was as soft as the first time I’d seen him naked. I laid my hands on his emaciated thighs and stroked upward, chanting and willing his life force to enter his sex. It wasn’t the same ceremony as the one we performed so many years ago. That one had been sex magic too, though. Still the Dark Arts required sacrifice and body fluids were the ones most acceptable. I used what I knew to call upon his Kundalini energies to help me fight the evil embedded in his arm. I was creating my own spell, my own ritual. It was a combination of light and dark magic. If I took one misstep it would forfeit my life as well as his.

“Severus, help me fight this evil. Help me!”

His tremulous hand reached out and found my face. He was lending the last of his strength to me. I touched his sac and caressed it-- low and behold, his penis began to rise.

I brought my body up and over his. Still chanting, I brought our sexual energies together. I felt my spirit flow with his. And then, he was gone.

It had been too much for him, as ailing as he’d been. This time there were no miracle elixirs at hand. I said, “Don’t you dare die on me”, and I pressed mps aps against his and forced air into his lungs. I pushed my hands down onto his heart, swearing that it would pump again.

After long frenzied minutes, he returned to life. I completed the ceremony and collected our mingled fluids. He had not ejaculated, but still I hoped some essence of his had come out. I mixed it all with my blood and added it to the herbs and other potion ingredients. I took the paste and, again reciting a final incantation, I plastered it onto his dark mark.

He broke into a sweat. His eyes were still unseeing, staring at the ceiling. I put my robes back on. I lowered hightightshirt and pulled up his covers. I sat next to his bed and lay my head next to his on the pillow. Exhausted, I fell asleep.

The sun was shining in my eyes and my neck ached. I opened my eyes and looked into the black eyes of Severus Snape.

I got up with a start. It was hard to remember that, according to Harry at least, I was not a repulsive creature to him.

He continued to watch me. And then the realization struck! His eyes were tracking me.

“Severus?”

“Am I dreaming?”

I had not heard his voice in many a month, it was rusty and unused-- nothing like the silken tones of his teaching days.

I smiled, “No, you are not.” I came closer to him. “You can see me, can’t you?”

The corner of his mouth curled, “Why yes. I beliI caI can. Aren’t you a certain little Miss Know-it-all that I used to teach?”

“No, you bastard. I am your lover. And I’ve spent many a year waiting for us to be together again.”

“Indeed? My lover?” The other side of his mouth began to curl as well. He smiled. “Help me up.”

“Do you think it’s--”

“Don’t question my authority, silly girl!”

Sweeter words I never heard…

He reached out his hand to me. I saw that the dark mark was gone.

--Nor witnessed a more beautiful sight, than that mark free limb.

And I held out my hand to him. Taking it he pulled himself up, and though his entire body trembled with the effort, he managed to take his first steps since the day he saved Harry. When he reached me, he took me in his arms and held me close. I could feel in him how his vitality had returned.

Severus Snape is still an ugly man, mean sometimes, and oft times cruel. I do not care! I am content to have him restored to me.

I understand him better now-- how he fears displays of tenderness or kindness. Yet when he thinks I am not aware of it, he is as gentle as a lamb.

In bed we still pretend to despise each other. We wrestle and curse and share a passion that strikes me as unique and amazing. Only with hi I a I able to be this way.

As hateful as he can be, I believe myself to be the luckiest Witch there is.