In Which We Meet One of Our Heroines.

A/N: Thank you to AngelMischa for helping me beat my commas into shape on this chapter!

Chapter 2 – In Which We Meet One of Our Heroines

Hermione Granger was an inveterate fixer. She adored solving problems and enjoyed flexing her intellect towards those solutions. Thus, being in the somewhat lowly position of lab assistant in the Research and Development Department of the Ministry did not bother her too much. The Ministry gave her plenty of problems to solve.

At the moment, she was up to her elbows in Doxy dung. She had donned the requisite Bubble-Head Charm to keep the smell from knocking her over. She had also donned latex prophylactics on her hands and arms to protect those parts of her. She found that in some ways, some muggle accessories were better, more tactile than the corresponding bubble protection charm for parts of the body.

Digging through the dung, she sifted out any stray impurities (branches, twigs, curtain fabric, etc.), prepping the dung for further testing. She had been tasked with creating a potion that would neutralise the toxins in the dung so it could be used as a low-cost fertilizer.

Sighing with relief, she pulled her hands and arms out, not having found anything big in the dung. She could now filter it through various grades of sieves. She drew off her latex hand and arm protectors and Evanesco'ed them away.

Once the dung was processing through the sieves, it was safe to remove the Bubble-Head Charm. She loved the convenience of the spell, but it tended to get a little warm within the bubble.

Pushing some stray curls that had escaped from her tight bun out of her face, she gingerly opened the Petri dish containing the purified dung sample. She grabbed the vial with her latest version of detoxifying potion and measured out a millilitre of it. Dripping it on the dung, she watched the slow reaction. A smell of dung and freesia wafted up.

"Shite!" Hermione muttered. If the potion had worked, there should not have been any smell coming off the dung, dung or freesia. She glanced up at the lab window and noticed that the sun was rather low in the western sky. It was quitting time. She had done all she could for the day. She made sure everything was secure, that the dung was processessing correctly, hung up her lab coat and went to the Apparition Station of the Ministry to Apparate home.

Only when she got home did she begin to feel discouraged. Doxy dung and other problems aside, unless she murdered a senior co-worker, there was no opportunity for rising in the organization in sight.

She realized it was Friday to boot. Another long, empty weekend stretched out before her.

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At her tiny apartment, Hermione let out a long sigh and poured herself a glass of wine. She shook her head at the self-pity she was feeling in disgust. She certainly had the wherewithal (and toys) to make it a pleasurable Friday evening alone. She could always go book shopping tomorrow for additional kicks.

Sipping the cabernet in her glass, she plotted out her evening. First a shower, and then on to other things...

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In the shower, with just the perfect water temperature, she ran a languid hand down her body, starting at the neck. She touched one breast and gently stroked the nipple, bringing it to attention. Slowly, she ran her hand down over her tummy and slid a finger into the slit at the crux of her legs. She lightly touched her sensitive clitoris and withdrew her hand – a small tease that sent a shiver up her spine.

She grinned. Just a touch and she was already "hard" thinking about the evening's pleasure to come. So to speak. She wiggled her hips, pushing her thighs together, putting pressure on the spot between her legs and idly wondered if it were possible for her to come that way. Feeling too lazy to try that, she rinsed off and grabbed a large fluffy towel. Wrapping her hair up and spelling it into place with her towel turban, she took another towel and started a leisurely process of drying off in the warm bathroom.

Hermione dried her legs, starting with the toes, then gently ran the towel between her legs. The texture of the towel on her clit made her jump a little. Oooh, that was just a bit too much sensation. She dried her torso and stroked her breasts, first one, then the other with the towel, lingering at the nipples.

Grabbing a bottle of juniper-scented lotion, she slathered her body with it, avoiding the sensitive area between her legs. She had other, special lubrication just for that area and didn't like the slight stinging sensation that her body lotion caused there. Wrapping herself in a fluffy white bathrobe, she grabbed the glass from the edge of the sink and drank the last of the wine in it. Time for a refill.

Wandering first into her bedroom, she retrieved the lube and her favorite toy – a flesh-tone vibrator that looked like a lovely cock complete with bluish veins standing out. It was about average sized, and she checked the battery with a flick of her fingers. The cock buzzed to life. Good. She didn't have to go digging for batteries; it buzzed like it still had plenty of juice in it.

Hermione snickered at her own unintentional vibrator double-entendre and took it and her glass out to the kitchen. The floor felt smooth under her feet, and she enjoyed the sensations of the cold tile. Hermione was just a bit of a masochist, and the temperature of the tile made her think of certain fantasies she had of a certain dungeon dweller. She thought back to a time when she had shivered, naked, on her kitchen floor.

She had had just one candle lit and had used her wand to create an illusion of being in a room built of cold stone. The floor she had left as it was, not being so much of a masochist that would enjoy stone burn from writhing on rock. She had played with her slit, imagining a long, slender-fingered masculine hand in its place, teasing her to madness, but not touching her otherwise other than the occasional suckle on her nipples.

Who would have thought that the dungeon bat of her childhood would become such an interesting fantasy companion now that she was an adult? She thought about enacting her dungeon fantasy again, but didn't want to go through the effort of transfiguring her kitchen. She refilled her glass of wine and wandered out to her living room to see what could be used there instead. It felt like a lovely evening for a bit of fantasy Severus.

Hermione considered her recliner and retrieved her wand from the bathroom with a quick Accio. With a flick of her wand, she changed the fabric covering of the recliner to black leather. She ran her hand over the surface and imagined being enfolded by its cool embrace. Severus was so pale that, even though she knew his body must be warm, she could only imagine his touch as being cool. She put a charm on the leather so it would remain at room temperature no matter how long she sat on it.

Shrugging off her robe, Hermione let it slide to the floor to pool around her feet. Surely Severus would demand that she come to him wearing nothing but her skin. He would remain fully dressed, of course. Of course. She snickered to herself and thought that, if for some strange reason they did ever become intimate, he would be the one spending equal time naked before her hungry eyes. But, for tonight, she would be naked and submissive before his demanding, black eyes.

Her train of fantasy was interrupted by a tapping sound at her kitchen window. She walked quickly to the kitchen to behold an owl perched on the branch outside her window. 'Who on earth would be sending correspondence this time of night,' she wondered. She opened the window to let the regal bird in.

It flew in and perched on the back of her kitchen chair. From the band on its leg, she could see it was a Ministry owl. What on earth...?

The bird haughtily extended the leg with a parchment bound to it. She quickly removed it and offered the owl some roast beef. It quickly ate its treat, appeared to bow to her, and flew out the still open window. What a polite bird!

Hermione closed the window and eyed the rolled up parchment with some misgiving. It wasn't edged in black, the traditional harbinger of death and disaster used by the Ministry. She cracked the seal on the missive, quickly read and sat down abruptly.

"Oh gods," she moaned under her breath. By Ministry decree, she was betrothed to one Severus Tobias Snape, Baron Prince. She read it again and grinned at the man's title.

Her smile faded. Dammit, she wanted in the man's pants, but this wasn't exactly how she had planned to go about it. She wanted his love and respect. This arrangement would probably only bring about his angered bare-tolerance of her.

Putting the parchment on the table, she shook her head vigorously. The towel fell free, and her damp hair fell about her shoulders. 'Better dry that mess first before it frizzes out of control,' she thought and then tried to recapture the nascent fantasy she had begun a few minutes ago.

Hermione was nothing if not a determined young woman who had early on tamed any wandering her mind might do. She could set aside thoughts about situations and occurrences that she could do nothing about and think only of those things that she could control. This evening she would use her mental discipline to its utmost, she thought to herself as she walked back to the living room.

That thought made her a bit sad. Snape had been such a wonderful fantasy lover. Encountering and living with the real, finicking, crabby man would put paid to that illusion. She sighed and picked her wand up off the floor where it had fallen by her robe. With a flick, her hair was dry and soft around her shoulders.

She still perceived her hair as an unruly bush, but in fact, it had grown, and the sheer weight of it had tamed it somewhat into a beautiful, curly, chestnut-colored wealth. She was a pretty woman, but her beautiful hair, when down like this, about her shoulders and draped over her full breasts, made her a sensuous vision to behold.

She slowly shook her head back and forth, the tendrils of her hair tickling and stimulating her breasts and nipples. Picking up the vibrator, she gingerly sat on the cool leather recliner. Her fantasy Snape inexorably pushed her back onto the black leather. Her back arched off the chair in a mix of response to the cold and desire. The contrast made her shiver, a small pre-orgasm throbbing in her clit.

Pushing the chair into its furthest reclining position, she was almost horizontal to the floor. She imagined that it was an examination table that Severus had purchased with her in mind. In her fantasy, Snape put her feet firmly on the arms of the chair, now stirrups so that he could have an unobstructed view of her femininity.

Hermione tentatively ran her middle finger through her pubic hair and into her slit, imagining that Snape would lightly slap her hand away for the insolence of obstructing his view. She could feel herself getting wetter and beginning to leak juices under his hard, obsidian gaze. She was naked and vulnerable before this powerful wizard, and the thought was enormously erotic.

She ran her hand into her slit, imaging his slender, pale fingers parting her petalled, nether lips to get an even closer look at her. The thought made her writhe. She felt like she could come under that scrutiny alone.

Of course he would allow her no such respite. She would have to wait until he gave her permission to come. He made her suffer in silence, the occasional whimper escaping her lips as she writhed on the cold leather, trying to control her rising desire.

Almost clinically, his cool fingers would stroke first one nipple, then the other. He would walk around to the back of the examining table behind her and stroke both nipples at once, teasing and taunting with his fingers until she would start to plead for more of his touch. He would punish her speaking out loud with a sharp pinch on both nipples, just to the edge of too much pain, and then would step back to observe her reactions once more.

Turning on her vibrator, she imagined Snape taking out his wand, murmuring a spell to set it vibrating and placing it between her legs, to lie on her slit. He would warn her not to move too much, because if it fell away from her slit, she would be very sorry indeed.

Hermione held herself as still as she could as fantasy Snape walked all around the table and observed her with cold detachment. She knew that that cold detachment would eventually disappear into hot lust and gentleness, but for now, he was the strict scientist observing her reactions to his experimenting.

A shiver ran through her at the thought of his clinical gaze seemingly indifferent upon her. She felt herself blush with mild humiliation at the thought of being stripped so naked before his eyes. This thought made an especially strong shudder run through her body in response, and the wand/vibrator rolled off her slit.

"That will never do," fantasy Snape would hiss at her vehemently. He would pickup the wand/vibrator and abruptly shove it into her vagina instead. In her mind, she shrieked at the sudden invasion, her hands busily shoving the vibrator into her waiting cunt. She was so slick with desire that she didn't even need her special lube. She moaned at the touch of the pulsing intruder in her vagina.

Vibrator in place, she cranked it up to high and took her hands off it, imagining Snape observing his wand vibrating merrily away, sticking out of her exposed cunt. He would then extend slender fingers and gently open her further, accidentally touching her clit in the process. He would then notice her abundant wetness and comment dryly about this situation seemed to be turning her on, a surprising reaction considering she was naked and at his mercy.

She grinned at her own train of thought. Snape, fully clothed, her naked on black leather; what wasn't exciting about that scenario? He, of course, would warn her again not to even think about coming.

Her hands and the vibrator in her twat were about enough to bring her off right then and there, but she waited on Snape to make his move. He would firmly grasp the wand and slide it in and out of her, angling it just so to hit her g-spot.

She slid the vibrator in and out of herself, not touching anything else, and fought the incredible urge to close her legs and stroke herself into oblivion. Snape would most certainly not allow that during his experiment.

After long moments of further testing, tweaking and examining, where she would alternately blush with humiliation and throb with desire, he would finally take mercy on her. He would climb up on the table and remove his wand from her twat. He would pass the wand under his nose, sniffing her essence and sticking out his tongue to sample the quality of her juices.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, he would undo the fly of his trousers and pull out his rock-hard penis. The tip would be glistening with the evidence of his desire.

"You want this, don't you?" he would ask with a superior gleam in his eye as he slowly stroked his erection. "You may speak now, if you wish. In fact I want you to beg for my cock. If you beg nicely enough, I may just give it to you."

She spent long moments mentally pleading for his cock to fill the emptiness his wand had left behind. Finally with a smirk, he would lie down on top of her with his full weight and slam his hard prick into her.

She gasped at the sudden, imaginary filling of her cunt. She imagined him slamming into her as hard as he could over and over again as the fingers of one hand danced over her clit, the other hand pistoning the vibrator in and out of her vagina.

He would slam into her, filling her viciously, one last time. She could almost feel his hot sperm pumping out and filling her. With this fantasy spurting, she let out a shriek and came hard, writhing and shuddering uncontrollably on her recliner.

'He would leave because he's not a cuddly sort,' she drowsily thought as she fell asleep, naked and sated.