Frail & Bedazzled

When she first found him, he was blinded. She didn't ask 'how' or even 'why.' Hermione's first thought was that she couldn't have Harry discover him, remembering those deadly words: if I find Snape along the way, too bad for him.

She didn't take Snape in as a kindness. She took him to the abandoned shack to protect Harry from diverting from his goal-- three Horcruxes down; one to go. Harry didn't need the distraction.

Her visits weren't social. She bore his snapping with as much grace as she bore Harry's. Both men were equally short-fused. Hermione delivered food and made sure he hadn't escaped the elaborate web of spells she'd left to keep him restrained. It was for his own protection.

Snape became her secret. Her mystery. Even Ron didn't know where she went on her "walks."

Ron and Harry spoke in conspiratorial tones of the things that boys talked about. Tits. Arses. Snogging. Things that they didn't think a girl would be interested in; things they didn't think a girl would understand.

After weeks of visits, Snape asked her why she took him in; why she was protecting him.

In answer, she kissed him, ignoring how he stiffened before melting into the affection.

Somehow, it vented everything; all of her irritation with Ron's inattention, his jealousy, their bickering. It was a chance to rebel against Harry's moodiness, how oblivious he was to how she tried, how she cared, how she protected him.

Her robes were up, Snape's cold fingers bushed over the heat of her cunt, slipping clumsily over the lips, warming as they moved through the slickness. Hermione pushed him down on stack of blankets she'd brought that served as his bed.

Hermione envied Snape's blindness; he could pretend it wasn't her. Closing her eyes, she found she couldn't tear her consciousness from who he was. In spite of all he'd done and who he was, she was ripping his already ragged and stained robes open, sliding her hand over his knobby body, feeling the crevices of skin and bones.

Her body, so velvety-soft and plump compared to his, her nipples peaked and chest blushing as his waxy fingers traced her, his confusion was written over his face.

Cold comfort in wartime, his body was far from perfect with a sunken chest and ribs exposed, and yet it was somehow what she needed.

She sat up, her knees digging into the blankets on either side of his hips, adjusting his cock to her opening. He said, "I didn't want to. I had to. He begged me to."

Hermione glowered at him-- she didn't want to hear this-- and let his prick fill her as she flinched from the pain of entry. She was as wet as she'd ever remembered being, yet it still pained her to let him in. "I don't care."

Once he was lodged inside of her, she poised her hands on either side of his face. She rode him hard, angling her hips so that his thin prick hit her exactly as she liked it.

Ron didn't like her on top; he accused her of going somewhere else when she rode him. She swiveled her hips, feeling his cock brush all of those dirty places that needed touching. He rubbed her clit in precise, practiced circles. His hand was cold again, but somehow it made it perfect.

She came before he did, her body vibrated as the waves of pleasure hit her one after the other. Following the feeling determinedly, she left everything behind-- the scratch of the blankets on her knees, the way that Snape's bony body jabbed her, his fingers sinking into her mouth.

Shuddering, her brows furrowed as she felt sweat dribbling down her spine to the crack of her arse. Her toes curled as she rode it out, dragging out her climax for as long as she could with uncertain, erratic thrusts against him, her cunt grasping and pulling. Hermione suckled his fingers, feeling the endorphins hit just after her release. She felt buzzed and dazed as, feet pressed into the floor, he slammed into her.

When he came, he was obscured by the sense of peace. She licked her lips after his fingers fell from her mouth, dragging her saliva down her chin. He was left rumpled and spent against the dingy blankets as she pushed up from the floor.

His come ran down her inner thigh as she let her robes drop again. She had no idea what had become of her knickers and she couldn't care less. All she knew was that she had to get out of here. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the grotty little shack as she could.

But before she'd turned to leave, she looked down at Snape, who was holding something out to her-- something gold that shimmered in the half-light of the setting sun. It was a necklace with a small locket on the end, fashioned with writhing snakes that hissed when she took it from him.

"It belonged to Salazar--" Snape started.

"I know what it is," Hermione snapped, closing her fingers around it. As she looked down at him, she thought of how sad and pathetic he seemed on the floor like that. He was no longer the ruler of the classroom, but meek and dependent on her, but still feral and fighting to have kept this from her all of this time.

"You'll tell them that I--" he said, sitting up, pushing his greasy hair from his face.

"Yes," she whispered, mind reeling. "I'll do what I can."

Closing her hand around the locket, she headed towards the door. "There's food in the larder. I'll be back."

As she walked out of the cabin, the last rays of the sun slipped beyond the horizon, leaving her cold and shivering. She looked back at the shack and then down at the precious Horcrux in her hand and hoped she hadn't lied.