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teddy_radiatorOkay, here goes. I will ask you to JUST TRUST ME ON THIS. This is what TalesofSnape calls a 'Russian Doll' fic. I just want to warn you. This is NSW and many of your may think I've lost my mind, but I'd rather give it a try. Just stick with it until the end before you AVADA me. My Muse can be very perverted, and he gave me this little one-shot. *wrings hands nervously*
Oh, heck with it. - Just trust me. here goes
The Encounter
None of these characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my sole reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I’m building a better world.
For Talesofsnape – whose recommendation of a very strange little story prompted me to write a strange little story of my own
May I just please reiterate that this takes place while Hermione is eighteen-years-old. I promise you. You must take my word for it. She is eighteen. Did I mention that Hermione is eighteen in this story?
Hermione dashed down the corridor, heedless of the students and faculty she passed. Tears blurred her eyes, and as she turned the corner and saw several teachers, including Professors McGonagall and Snape, she knew she couldn’t face them. Not now. Not when she was so angry, upset and hurt.
Blindly heading for the first door she could find, Hermione quickly grabbed the handle and flew into… a cleaning cupboard. “Oh, just great,” she muttered, through her tears. All this, and Mr. Filch, too.
She could hear the sounds of students walking by, and her heart broke afresh at the thought of what was happening right now. Ron was in the Gryffindor Common Room, sucking Lavender Brown’s face off. They had all but laughed at her, and she couldn’t face anyone now.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Hermione cowered in the corner, her tears running unchecked down her face.
“Here now, what’s this?” Mr. Filch barked, and Hermione, her head lowered, walked forward, so that she could be seen. Mr. Filch peered in the semi-gloom.
“Is that Miss Granger? What are you doing here?” He spoke more with suspicion than anger, and Hermione felt her tears start again.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Filch. I was just trying to… “ She sniffed, and the older man looked at her almost fearfully, as if unsure how to deal with a blubbering, crying young woman.
“Hiding from young Mr. Weasley, are ya?” Mr. Filch shook his head. He snorted. “Yeah, I seen ‘em. Boys are fools, young miss. Sometimes they get wiser as they grow, but the young ones are all fools.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, uncertainly, feeling the hot humiliation of being caught here, crying like a lovesick child, by Hogwarts’ caretaker. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Filch. I’ll just leave.”
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No need to rush, Miss. Classes are still changin’, and what with the Professors out there, you don’t want to be badgered with questions, do yeh?”
“No sir.” Hermione brushed the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, and suddenly Mr. Filch reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dingy, but clean, and held it out to her.
“Here, have this, Miss Granger.” He accepted her nod of thanks. “Sometimes, we all just need a little cry.” He reached forward and patted her shoulder. It was a surprisingly comforting and gentle pat.
“Thank you for being so understanding, sir,” Hermione said, and gave him a wan, little smile through her tears.
“Well, you’re a good girl, Miss, and I think, if I’m honest, you could do better than that Wealsey whelp. If you don’t mind my saying,” he added hastily.
Hermione shook her head, and gave him such a sad smile, the old man’s heart broke a little. “I only wish that were true, sir. I know I’m not pretty like Lavender, or elegant like Pavarti, or vivacious like Ginny-“
“Pah! You’re as lovely as the lot put together, Miss Granger!” the old man said, with conviction. “You’re the brightest young spark in this school! And you’ve grown into a lovely young woman, if I may be so bold to say,” he finished, in a rather courtly manner. “I’ll stand by me conviction, that young Weasley is a fool of the first division.”
Hermione gave him a hopeful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Filch. You’re really being so kind.” She impulsively gave the old man a hug. “You’re a very good person, and it’s so sweet of you to say those things.”
Startled by her sudden display of affection, Mr. Filch returned the hug of the young, nubile witch, and as she pressed her lovely body against his, he smiled, and returned her embrace.
As Hermione stood there, she felt the unmistakable pressure of a gentle, warm hand against her breast. She grew very still, as did he. The hand moved, and cupped her breast completely.
In a quiet voice, Mr. Filch said, “You’re a lovely woman, lass. No man in his right mind would say otherwise.”
For a long moment, they stood together. Hermione thought she should be shocked, or frightened or angry, but all she could think of was how warm his hand felt on her body, how she felt a sudden heat and pressure in her groin, and how she didn’t want to leave, or move or scream. She wanted to feel a warm hand cup her breast, and to hear someone call her lovely again.
Hermione felt her breath quicken, and before she could think, her robes were open, and a very tender , gnarled hand was easing a breast from the confines of her bra. Her mind was shouting NO!, but the arm that held her was comforting, and the hand that cradled her bare breast was teasing her nipple with fingers that were surprisingly skilled. A single fingertip flicked at the nub until it was drawn to a stiff, aching peak, and a knowing thumb and forefinger milked it with the gentlest of pulling caresses.
Hermione was almost hyperventilating. This was the wrongest of wrongs, and yet, it felt so pleasurable that she could feel her knickers growing wet.
A second hand was softly releasing her other breast, and soon she was exposed fully to him. Mr. Filch was slow, unhurried, and when she stole a glance to his face, he was watching her nipples crinkle in his skilled, work-roughened fingers.
In a slightly breathless voice, he murmured, “You have fine tits, lass. Made to be sucked.” With that, he knelt down and took her left breast in his mouth and Hermione had just enough wits to ward the door and put a Silencing Charm on it before all reason and sense left her and rushed down in to the nerve endings of the little nipple being sucked and flicked in the caretaker’s warm mouth.
The sheer wrongness of what was happening should have made her push him away, but he was so gentle, so understanding, and he seemed to know exactly how to make her body feel good. It was taboo, but she wanted it. Oh, gods, she wanted it!
She leaned forward and arched her back to give him greatest access. His mouth was gentle, and his tongue hard as it flicked her little nipple. His mouth was maddeningly soft, and Hermione found herself pushing against his mouth impatiently. “Harder,” she whispered, almost afraid to speak, lest he stop.
He looked up at her in surprise, and shook his head. “Nay, lass. Your teat is not made for harshness or biting.” He looked fondly down at her nipple, glistening with his saliva. “It’s for a babe’s tender suck, not a man’s teeth.” He returned to his pleasure with a low moan, and Hermione whimpered, as he switched to her right breast, his gnarled fingers softly plucking its opposite.
So skillful was his fingers, it felt to Hermione as if there were two mouths pleasuring both breasts at once, and she threaded her hands into his thinning hair and nestled him closely against her, feeling the heat pooling in her core to such a needful longing that she was helpless against it.
Hermione was stunned, not only that Mr. Filch was here, sucking and teasing her breasts, but that she was allowing it – enjoying it! Reason and propriety disappeared when his hands tugged on her knickers and pulled them down her hips. Hermione wanted to protest. She wanted to stop him and tell him what they were doing was forbidden on so many different levels, but she could not. His mouth, still attached to her nipple, was unhurried and warm. Hermione felt as if they had all the time in the world, that there was no one waiting on them, that no one knew they were there.
Hermione felt a warm, sure hand slide between her thighs, and his finger found her slick heat, and Hermione’s knees buckled.
“Easy lass,” he said, with a warm chuckle. He glanced up and saw the raw passion on the young woman’s face, the desire that darkened her eyes and made her lips full and slack. “Aww, Miss, you’re so warm and wet, you feel as slick as the dew.” He stood, and placed his arms around her waist. “Here we go – up you get.” He lifted her up onto the table, and pushed her thighs apart. He hooked his elbows under her knees and pulled her toward the end of the table. “Good lass. Come ‘ere, that’s a girl. Now lie back, let old Argus make you feel better. ”
Her cunt was bright red, and he could smell her juices pooling at the opening. “My, you are a beauty, young miss. A treasure, to be sure.” He delicately peeled her swollen, moist labia apart, and looked at her wet vulva with delight on his face. “What a sweet, little pink puss to lick. Open up for Argus, love.”
Hermione’s brain seemed to disengage, as the older man lowered his mouth to her dripping cunt and began to give her more pleasure than she thought possible. He was slow, and his mouth was amazingly soft and gentle. As his large tongue lapped and flicked her hard clitoris, she began to moan and writhe. He pulled back, and inserted a large, calloused finger into her cunt. He laughed as he felt the barrier within.
“Oh, lass, and you’re untouched. You are gift from the gods, you are,” he moaned, and his mouth and fingers grew frantic, matched by Hermione’s cries and pleas and groans.
“Please,” she whimpered, feeling her orgasm zooming down upon her. Her hips were bucking up to meet his eager mouth, and just as she thought she might go mad, he rubbed his roughened thumb hard against her swollen clit, and Hermione dissolved in a sheet of flame. Her passion flew over the edge, shouting into the little closet, screaming out, as her hard orgasm pulsed and thumped and throbbed within her.
“That’s my girl. Come to your completion, lass. That’s it,” he crooned, comfortingly. “You’re a good girl, coming so hard for me…”
Hermione, exhausted, slumped back against the table, and Mr. Filch looked up into her lovely, flushed face.
Warmly, he asked, “Did I please you, lass? Did I give you what you needed?” He sounded confident of her answer, but eagerly awaited it all the same. She looked divine, all open and abandoned, her legs splayed on either side of his shoulders, her breasts pushed high and firm over her bra, her eyes glazed and dark with passion.
“Come now, Miss, give us a smile. Tell your old Argus he’s made your pussy feel good.” He stood, wiping his mouth and licking his fingers. “Tell me you feel better, my sweet.”
She rose slowly. She was shaking so hard he had to help her dress. “Thank you,” she said, and put her arms around the older man and leaned against Mr. Filch. “You were so kind and gentle, and it was… oh, it was so good.”
The old caretaker took her head between his gnarled hands and kissed her forehead. When he looked down at her, there was a trace of pride in his face, but also a trace of sadness. “I’ve been what they call ‘impotent’, these past five year, child. But I’ve not forgotten what a woman needs, and how she needs it. You needed to be shown what a beauty you are, and you gave me a gift I will treasure all my days.”
He helped her button her robes and set her on her feet. She was shaky, but he was attentive and kind.
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Filch,” Hermione said, smiling up at the older man. “I’m not the type of witch who – “ to her surprise, he placed a hand over her lips, a look of concern on his weathered face.
“Don’t even think it, love! I know you. You’re a good, good girl, who was going through a bad time. I just wanted to give you a little reminder of how special you are.” He kissed her hand. “You were as sweet as honey, and soft as a babe and fragrant as a rose.” He closed his eyes, relishing the memory. “Your little nips, your sweet little pussy, ah, it were divine.”
She blushed, and it delighted him. “Do you feel better? Are you ready to face the bastards again?” When she nodded, he walked to the door, waited for her to lower her wards, and turned to face her.
With great dignity, he said, “I know you just think of me as a old squib, but I hope I’ve given you something that will help you to remember that you’re as good as any of ‘em.”
She joined him at the door. “You have, Mr. Filch.” She looked down and blushed again. “I’ll never forget this.”
As she went to leave, he put a warm hand against her cheek. “If you need me, find me, and I’ll help you.” There was no lecherousness to his tone, just a sincerity that touched her. He nodded, “Find, me, lass, and I’ll pleasure you again. I’ll see that you come. Never worry on ‘t.”
To his surprise, she reached up and gave him a soft, achingly loving kiss on the lips. As they stood, Hermione opened her eyes. Mr. Filch was growing younger, taller, his hair turning black, with shots of white, until Severus Snape stood before her, wrapping his arms around her, deepening the kiss until she was breathless with desire all over again.
As he looked down, the young eighteen-year-old Hermione changed, and grew older, her breasts and hips slightly heavier, her hair longer, with a little grey in it.
“Do you think it was enough?” she said, looking up into the familiar face of her husband of twenty-five years. She was exhausted, but she could feel his raging erection against her belly, and knew they would not leave this place until it had been satisfied. Argus Filch may have been impotent, but Severus Snape certainly was not.
He nodded, his eyes bleak with sorrow. “I believe it will be. You were very quiet,” he added, with a smirk. “I’m used to you being a little more, shall we say, vocal, when we make love, pet.”
Hermione snorted. “I was holding on to a glamour while my gorgeous husband was eating me out glamoured as Mr. Filch.” She ticked them off with her hand, watching his smirk grow with each breath.
“A, I was trying to keep the glamour from slipping. B, I was terrified I’d start screaming your name. C, you were driving me insane, and you know it, and D, you looked like Mr. Filch.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “I know this is important to you, but I never had an encounter with Mr. Filch in a cleaning cupboard when I was a student, and I seriously doubt that would have happened if I had.”
Severus shrugged. “You never know.” He softened. “Argus admires you greatly. You were always kind to him, and during the war – “
“I know.” She kissed Severus again, and he groaned appreciatively as she stroked his cock beneath his elegant robes.
In his deep, sinful baritone voice, he drawled, “My dear wife, I think we’d better retire to our chambers for further… activities. I may be younger than Argus, but my knees are, I fear, not up to the rigors of making love in a cupboard.”
“You were doing a very good imitation there for a minute.”
“Cheeky little minx…”
Headmaster Snape and his wife were keeping the last vigil with their old friend. Poppy told them that this night would be Hogwarts’ caretaker’s last, this side of the veil. His body was shutting down, and for the last three weeks, the old man had been in unspeakable pain. Tonight, he wasn’t hurting, and he seemed to sense it was almost time to go.
“I’m grateful to you for keepin’ me comp’ny tonight, Madam, Headmaster,” the old man said, looking frail and tiny in the hospital bed. “I’m not afraid to go, you know.” He fretted, “I miss Mrs. Norris, though. She were a good friend, and all.”
Severus felt a wave of sadness. “You’ve been a good friend as well, Argus. And what is all this ‘Madam and Headmaster’ bollocks? You’ve known us since we were children.”
Mr. Filch smiled sleepily.“I know, Severus, I know. But I’ve always called your lovely lady wife Miss Granger,” Argus said, and Severus found his ‘in’, and Legilimised effortlessly into the old man’s mind. For several moments, Severus replayed the little charade in Argus’ memory, and when he was satisfied Argus believed it actually happened, Severus withdrew as quietly and gently as he’d come.
Argus had been a good friend, from the days when Severus himself was a student, through the hideous war years and afterward, when the dark was defeated and the light triumphed, and Severus had returned to his position as Headmaster at Hogwarts and War Hero. Hermione, his precious, darling wife, had married him five years later, and they’d been inseparable ever since.
Hermione didn’t realise it at the time (and who did, really? They were all just trying to survive), but she made quite an impact on the old caretaker during the war. Severus often teased Hermione that Filch liked her almost as much as he admired Dolores Umbridge. Indeed, during the final battle of Hogwarts, Hermione, an avenging angel in torn Muggle jeans and a tatty jumper, had flown through the halls, defending those who could not defend themselves from the Death Eaters and their allies.
The children were rounded up and hidden in a safe place, and Hermione, seeing Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris caught between the fighting wizards of both sides, had come to his rescue. Mr. Filch often told the tale, of the future Mrs. Snape running up to him, grabbing his arm and shouting, “Come on, Mr. Filch! Grab Mrs. Norris – if we don’t get out of the way, the fucking Death Eaters will have us for dinner!”
They had run out of the castle, and when Hermione told the caretaker what had happened to the Headmaster, the two of them raced back to the Shrieking Shack and rescued a barely conscious Severus. Both had testified at his trial, and both had been instrumental in reinstating him as Headmaster of the school. Through the ensuing years, the Headmaster and his wife became good friends with Argus, and it seemed fitting that, on his last night this side of the veil, they should be the ones to keep the vigil with him.
Mr. Filch had lived a quiet, solitary life at Hogwarts, but Severus had always suspected that, in his day, he’d been a bit of a lady’s man. Minerva once told Severus that Argus’ heart had been broken by a witch who didn’t want a squib for a husband. Severus knew more than a little about heartbreak, and, putting this story and Argus’ love for Hermione together, decided to give the old man one last wish to build a dream on. Mr. Filch was dying; shouldn’t he walk through the veil with at least one happy memory of his time at Hogwarts?
Argus blinked slowly, coming out of his Legilimency-induced hypnosis. “Yes, you’re a fine lass, Mrs. Snape.” Hermione smiled down at the old man, trying to stem the tears that threatened to fall. After all the years, she had genuinely grown fond of the old man. When Mrs. Norris had died, Mr. Filch had gone downhill fast. He had spent his last days at Hogwarts in semi-retirement, tending the little memorial rose garden that honoured the fallen at the final battle.
Madam Pomfrey approached the trio. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Headmaster, but could I have a word? I have to send to St. Mungo’s for some emergency Blood Replenishing Potion – could you sign the requisition parchments?”
“Certainly.” Severus turned to his companions. “I’ll return shortly.” He followed Madam Pomfrey into her office, leaving his wife with the dying caretaker. They watched him leave, and Hermione felt a frail hand touch hers. She turned back to Mr. Filch and smiled down at him.
He looked a little sheepish, and more than a little troubled. “You know, lass, I never told anyone about, well, you know –“
“I know, Argus. I have only ever told one other, and that’s Severus.” She smiled. “We have no secrets, you know.”
“That’s as it should be. But it’s been on my mind lately.” He smiled gently at her. “I wanted you to know that it were a privilege. It were a special gift, and,” he looked a little shy as he spoke, “I hope it were a gift for you and all.”
Hermione took the old man’s hand in hers, and kissed it. “It was very special, Mr. Filch. It meant a great deal to me.” She felt her tears welling again. “I want you to know I walked out of that cupboard feeling more beautiful than I have ever felt.” Hermione thought sadly to herself, and that’s the truest thing I could ever say.
Mr. Filch nodded, and looked pleadingly at Hermione. “I didn’t think badly of you before, you know! You were so upset, and lonely, and, before I could stop meself,” he sighed at the ‘memory’. “You were as innocent as an angel, and as sweet as the gods have ever made a woman. I hope you don’t think ill of me for it, lass.”
“Of course I don’t! And neither does Severus. How could we? I’ve always been grateful for your kindness, and your gentleness.” Hermione could see the old man fading. “You were my first, you know. I’d never been properly with a man before, and I’ve always been glad it was you, Argus. You were gentle and good with me, and I thank you for introducing me to love in such a selfless way.”
Tears slid past the old man’s temples. “It’s one of my fondest memories, that. You were everything an old man like me could have wished for in life. It were such a fine moment.”
“I’m sorry, Argus,” Severus said, returning to the old man’s bedside. “A Headmaster’s work is truly never done.” He sat down beside Argus, smiling at the withered hand encased in Hermione’s. She caught his eye and nodded.
Argus nodded. “I understand, Headmaster. No matter.” He smiled fondly at Hermione. “Mrs. Snape has been keeping me comp’ny. Such a sweet, kind lass.” He looked at Severus keenly. “You take good care of her, mind.”
Severus put his hand over Hermione’s. “I promise I will, Argus. I promise. You took good care of her then, and I’ll do it now.” Severus felt his throat tighten. “You took good care of all of us, in your own way.”
The old man’s eyes grew dim. “I did m’best, lad.” His voice grew slower, slurring slightly. “I think I’ll take a little kip now, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Argus.” A tear fell from Severus’ dark eyes. “Rest, my friend. You’ve earned it, sir.” He looked at his beloved wife, and saw tears streaming from her lovely eyes.
Hermione leaned over and kissed Argus’ wrinkled brow. “Goodnight, Mr. Filch.”
Moments passed, and the three figures held hands, waiting for the end of the night.
~FIN~
Oh, heck with it. - Just trust me. here goes
The Encounter
None of these characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my sole reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I’m building a better world.
For Talesofsnape – whose recommendation of a very strange little story prompted me to write a strange little story of my own
May I just please reiterate that this takes place while Hermione is eighteen-years-old. I promise you. You must take my word for it. She is eighteen. Did I mention that Hermione is eighteen in this story?
Hermione dashed down the corridor, heedless of the students and faculty she passed. Tears blurred her eyes, and as she turned the corner and saw several teachers, including Professors McGonagall and Snape, she knew she couldn’t face them. Not now. Not when she was so angry, upset and hurt.
Blindly heading for the first door she could find, Hermione quickly grabbed the handle and flew into… a cleaning cupboard. “Oh, just great,” she muttered, through her tears. All this, and Mr. Filch, too.
She could hear the sounds of students walking by, and her heart broke afresh at the thought of what was happening right now. Ron was in the Gryffindor Common Room, sucking Lavender Brown’s face off. They had all but laughed at her, and she couldn’t face anyone now.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Hermione cowered in the corner, her tears running unchecked down her face.
“Here now, what’s this?” Mr. Filch barked, and Hermione, her head lowered, walked forward, so that she could be seen. Mr. Filch peered in the semi-gloom.
“Is that Miss Granger? What are you doing here?” He spoke more with suspicion than anger, and Hermione felt her tears start again.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Filch. I was just trying to… “ She sniffed, and the older man looked at her almost fearfully, as if unsure how to deal with a blubbering, crying young woman.
“Hiding from young Mr. Weasley, are ya?” Mr. Filch shook his head. He snorted. “Yeah, I seen ‘em. Boys are fools, young miss. Sometimes they get wiser as they grow, but the young ones are all fools.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, uncertainly, feeling the hot humiliation of being caught here, crying like a lovesick child, by Hogwarts’ caretaker. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Filch. I’ll just leave.”
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No need to rush, Miss. Classes are still changin’, and what with the Professors out there, you don’t want to be badgered with questions, do yeh?”
“No sir.” Hermione brushed the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, and suddenly Mr. Filch reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dingy, but clean, and held it out to her.
“Here, have this, Miss Granger.” He accepted her nod of thanks. “Sometimes, we all just need a little cry.” He reached forward and patted her shoulder. It was a surprisingly comforting and gentle pat.
“Thank you for being so understanding, sir,” Hermione said, and gave him a wan, little smile through her tears.
“Well, you’re a good girl, Miss, and I think, if I’m honest, you could do better than that Wealsey whelp. If you don’t mind my saying,” he added hastily.
Hermione shook her head, and gave him such a sad smile, the old man’s heart broke a little. “I only wish that were true, sir. I know I’m not pretty like Lavender, or elegant like Pavarti, or vivacious like Ginny-“
“Pah! You’re as lovely as the lot put together, Miss Granger!” the old man said, with conviction. “You’re the brightest young spark in this school! And you’ve grown into a lovely young woman, if I may be so bold to say,” he finished, in a rather courtly manner. “I’ll stand by me conviction, that young Weasley is a fool of the first division.”
Hermione gave him a hopeful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Filch. You’re really being so kind.” She impulsively gave the old man a hug. “You’re a very good person, and it’s so sweet of you to say those things.”
Startled by her sudden display of affection, Mr. Filch returned the hug of the young, nubile witch, and as she pressed her lovely body against his, he smiled, and returned her embrace.
As Hermione stood there, she felt the unmistakable pressure of a gentle, warm hand against her breast. She grew very still, as did he. The hand moved, and cupped her breast completely.
In a quiet voice, Mr. Filch said, “You’re a lovely woman, lass. No man in his right mind would say otherwise.”
For a long moment, they stood together. Hermione thought she should be shocked, or frightened or angry, but all she could think of was how warm his hand felt on her body, how she felt a sudden heat and pressure in her groin, and how she didn’t want to leave, or move or scream. She wanted to feel a warm hand cup her breast, and to hear someone call her lovely again.
Hermione felt her breath quicken, and before she could think, her robes were open, and a very tender , gnarled hand was easing a breast from the confines of her bra. Her mind was shouting NO!, but the arm that held her was comforting, and the hand that cradled her bare breast was teasing her nipple with fingers that were surprisingly skilled. A single fingertip flicked at the nub until it was drawn to a stiff, aching peak, and a knowing thumb and forefinger milked it with the gentlest of pulling caresses.
Hermione was almost hyperventilating. This was the wrongest of wrongs, and yet, it felt so pleasurable that she could feel her knickers growing wet.
A second hand was softly releasing her other breast, and soon she was exposed fully to him. Mr. Filch was slow, unhurried, and when she stole a glance to his face, he was watching her nipples crinkle in his skilled, work-roughened fingers.
In a slightly breathless voice, he murmured, “You have fine tits, lass. Made to be sucked.” With that, he knelt down and took her left breast in his mouth and Hermione had just enough wits to ward the door and put a Silencing Charm on it before all reason and sense left her and rushed down in to the nerve endings of the little nipple being sucked and flicked in the caretaker’s warm mouth.
The sheer wrongness of what was happening should have made her push him away, but he was so gentle, so understanding, and he seemed to know exactly how to make her body feel good. It was taboo, but she wanted it. Oh, gods, she wanted it!
She leaned forward and arched her back to give him greatest access. His mouth was gentle, and his tongue hard as it flicked her little nipple. His mouth was maddeningly soft, and Hermione found herself pushing against his mouth impatiently. “Harder,” she whispered, almost afraid to speak, lest he stop.
He looked up at her in surprise, and shook his head. “Nay, lass. Your teat is not made for harshness or biting.” He looked fondly down at her nipple, glistening with his saliva. “It’s for a babe’s tender suck, not a man’s teeth.” He returned to his pleasure with a low moan, and Hermione whimpered, as he switched to her right breast, his gnarled fingers softly plucking its opposite.
So skillful was his fingers, it felt to Hermione as if there were two mouths pleasuring both breasts at once, and she threaded her hands into his thinning hair and nestled him closely against her, feeling the heat pooling in her core to such a needful longing that she was helpless against it.
Hermione was stunned, not only that Mr. Filch was here, sucking and teasing her breasts, but that she was allowing it – enjoying it! Reason and propriety disappeared when his hands tugged on her knickers and pulled them down her hips. Hermione wanted to protest. She wanted to stop him and tell him what they were doing was forbidden on so many different levels, but she could not. His mouth, still attached to her nipple, was unhurried and warm. Hermione felt as if they had all the time in the world, that there was no one waiting on them, that no one knew they were there.
Hermione felt a warm, sure hand slide between her thighs, and his finger found her slick heat, and Hermione’s knees buckled.
“Easy lass,” he said, with a warm chuckle. He glanced up and saw the raw passion on the young woman’s face, the desire that darkened her eyes and made her lips full and slack. “Aww, Miss, you’re so warm and wet, you feel as slick as the dew.” He stood, and placed his arms around her waist. “Here we go – up you get.” He lifted her up onto the table, and pushed her thighs apart. He hooked his elbows under her knees and pulled her toward the end of the table. “Good lass. Come ‘ere, that’s a girl. Now lie back, let old Argus make you feel better. ”
Her cunt was bright red, and he could smell her juices pooling at the opening. “My, you are a beauty, young miss. A treasure, to be sure.” He delicately peeled her swollen, moist labia apart, and looked at her wet vulva with delight on his face. “What a sweet, little pink puss to lick. Open up for Argus, love.”
Hermione’s brain seemed to disengage, as the older man lowered his mouth to her dripping cunt and began to give her more pleasure than she thought possible. He was slow, and his mouth was amazingly soft and gentle. As his large tongue lapped and flicked her hard clitoris, she began to moan and writhe. He pulled back, and inserted a large, calloused finger into her cunt. He laughed as he felt the barrier within.
“Oh, lass, and you’re untouched. You are gift from the gods, you are,” he moaned, and his mouth and fingers grew frantic, matched by Hermione’s cries and pleas and groans.
“Please,” she whimpered, feeling her orgasm zooming down upon her. Her hips were bucking up to meet his eager mouth, and just as she thought she might go mad, he rubbed his roughened thumb hard against her swollen clit, and Hermione dissolved in a sheet of flame. Her passion flew over the edge, shouting into the little closet, screaming out, as her hard orgasm pulsed and thumped and throbbed within her.
“That’s my girl. Come to your completion, lass. That’s it,” he crooned, comfortingly. “You’re a good girl, coming so hard for me…”
Hermione, exhausted, slumped back against the table, and Mr. Filch looked up into her lovely, flushed face.
Warmly, he asked, “Did I please you, lass? Did I give you what you needed?” He sounded confident of her answer, but eagerly awaited it all the same. She looked divine, all open and abandoned, her legs splayed on either side of his shoulders, her breasts pushed high and firm over her bra, her eyes glazed and dark with passion.
“Come now, Miss, give us a smile. Tell your old Argus he’s made your pussy feel good.” He stood, wiping his mouth and licking his fingers. “Tell me you feel better, my sweet.”
She rose slowly. She was shaking so hard he had to help her dress. “Thank you,” she said, and put her arms around the older man and leaned against Mr. Filch. “You were so kind and gentle, and it was… oh, it was so good.”
The old caretaker took her head between his gnarled hands and kissed her forehead. When he looked down at her, there was a trace of pride in his face, but also a trace of sadness. “I’ve been what they call ‘impotent’, these past five year, child. But I’ve not forgotten what a woman needs, and how she needs it. You needed to be shown what a beauty you are, and you gave me a gift I will treasure all my days.”
He helped her button her robes and set her on her feet. She was shaky, but he was attentive and kind.
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Filch,” Hermione said, smiling up at the older man. “I’m not the type of witch who – “ to her surprise, he placed a hand over her lips, a look of concern on his weathered face.
“Don’t even think it, love! I know you. You’re a good, good girl, who was going through a bad time. I just wanted to give you a little reminder of how special you are.” He kissed her hand. “You were as sweet as honey, and soft as a babe and fragrant as a rose.” He closed his eyes, relishing the memory. “Your little nips, your sweet little pussy, ah, it were divine.”
She blushed, and it delighted him. “Do you feel better? Are you ready to face the bastards again?” When she nodded, he walked to the door, waited for her to lower her wards, and turned to face her.
With great dignity, he said, “I know you just think of me as a old squib, but I hope I’ve given you something that will help you to remember that you’re as good as any of ‘em.”
She joined him at the door. “You have, Mr. Filch.” She looked down and blushed again. “I’ll never forget this.”
As she went to leave, he put a warm hand against her cheek. “If you need me, find me, and I’ll help you.” There was no lecherousness to his tone, just a sincerity that touched her. He nodded, “Find, me, lass, and I’ll pleasure you again. I’ll see that you come. Never worry on ‘t.”
To his surprise, she reached up and gave him a soft, achingly loving kiss on the lips. As they stood, Hermione opened her eyes. Mr. Filch was growing younger, taller, his hair turning black, with shots of white, until Severus Snape stood before her, wrapping his arms around her, deepening the kiss until she was breathless with desire all over again.
As he looked down, the young eighteen-year-old Hermione changed, and grew older, her breasts and hips slightly heavier, her hair longer, with a little grey in it.
“Do you think it was enough?” she said, looking up into the familiar face of her husband of twenty-five years. She was exhausted, but she could feel his raging erection against her belly, and knew they would not leave this place until it had been satisfied. Argus Filch may have been impotent, but Severus Snape certainly was not.
He nodded, his eyes bleak with sorrow. “I believe it will be. You were very quiet,” he added, with a smirk. “I’m used to you being a little more, shall we say, vocal, when we make love, pet.”
Hermione snorted. “I was holding on to a glamour while my gorgeous husband was eating me out glamoured as Mr. Filch.” She ticked them off with her hand, watching his smirk grow with each breath.
“A, I was trying to keep the glamour from slipping. B, I was terrified I’d start screaming your name. C, you were driving me insane, and you know it, and D, you looked like Mr. Filch.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “I know this is important to you, but I never had an encounter with Mr. Filch in a cleaning cupboard when I was a student, and I seriously doubt that would have happened if I had.”
Severus shrugged. “You never know.” He softened. “Argus admires you greatly. You were always kind to him, and during the war – “
“I know.” She kissed Severus again, and he groaned appreciatively as she stroked his cock beneath his elegant robes.
In his deep, sinful baritone voice, he drawled, “My dear wife, I think we’d better retire to our chambers for further… activities. I may be younger than Argus, but my knees are, I fear, not up to the rigors of making love in a cupboard.”
“You were doing a very good imitation there for a minute.”
“Cheeky little minx…”
Headmaster Snape and his wife were keeping the last vigil with their old friend. Poppy told them that this night would be Hogwarts’ caretaker’s last, this side of the veil. His body was shutting down, and for the last three weeks, the old man had been in unspeakable pain. Tonight, he wasn’t hurting, and he seemed to sense it was almost time to go.
“I’m grateful to you for keepin’ me comp’ny tonight, Madam, Headmaster,” the old man said, looking frail and tiny in the hospital bed. “I’m not afraid to go, you know.” He fretted, “I miss Mrs. Norris, though. She were a good friend, and all.”
Severus felt a wave of sadness. “You’ve been a good friend as well, Argus. And what is all this ‘Madam and Headmaster’ bollocks? You’ve known us since we were children.”
Mr. Filch smiled sleepily.“I know, Severus, I know. But I’ve always called your lovely lady wife Miss Granger,” Argus said, and Severus found his ‘in’, and Legilimised effortlessly into the old man’s mind. For several moments, Severus replayed the little charade in Argus’ memory, and when he was satisfied Argus believed it actually happened, Severus withdrew as quietly and gently as he’d come.
Argus had been a good friend, from the days when Severus himself was a student, through the hideous war years and afterward, when the dark was defeated and the light triumphed, and Severus had returned to his position as Headmaster at Hogwarts and War Hero. Hermione, his precious, darling wife, had married him five years later, and they’d been inseparable ever since.
Hermione didn’t realise it at the time (and who did, really? They were all just trying to survive), but she made quite an impact on the old caretaker during the war. Severus often teased Hermione that Filch liked her almost as much as he admired Dolores Umbridge. Indeed, during the final battle of Hogwarts, Hermione, an avenging angel in torn Muggle jeans and a tatty jumper, had flown through the halls, defending those who could not defend themselves from the Death Eaters and their allies.
The children were rounded up and hidden in a safe place, and Hermione, seeing Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris caught between the fighting wizards of both sides, had come to his rescue. Mr. Filch often told the tale, of the future Mrs. Snape running up to him, grabbing his arm and shouting, “Come on, Mr. Filch! Grab Mrs. Norris – if we don’t get out of the way, the fucking Death Eaters will have us for dinner!”
They had run out of the castle, and when Hermione told the caretaker what had happened to the Headmaster, the two of them raced back to the Shrieking Shack and rescued a barely conscious Severus. Both had testified at his trial, and both had been instrumental in reinstating him as Headmaster of the school. Through the ensuing years, the Headmaster and his wife became good friends with Argus, and it seemed fitting that, on his last night this side of the veil, they should be the ones to keep the vigil with him.
Mr. Filch had lived a quiet, solitary life at Hogwarts, but Severus had always suspected that, in his day, he’d been a bit of a lady’s man. Minerva once told Severus that Argus’ heart had been broken by a witch who didn’t want a squib for a husband. Severus knew more than a little about heartbreak, and, putting this story and Argus’ love for Hermione together, decided to give the old man one last wish to build a dream on. Mr. Filch was dying; shouldn’t he walk through the veil with at least one happy memory of his time at Hogwarts?
Argus blinked slowly, coming out of his Legilimency-induced hypnosis. “Yes, you’re a fine lass, Mrs. Snape.” Hermione smiled down at the old man, trying to stem the tears that threatened to fall. After all the years, she had genuinely grown fond of the old man. When Mrs. Norris had died, Mr. Filch had gone downhill fast. He had spent his last days at Hogwarts in semi-retirement, tending the little memorial rose garden that honoured the fallen at the final battle.
Madam Pomfrey approached the trio. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Headmaster, but could I have a word? I have to send to St. Mungo’s for some emergency Blood Replenishing Potion – could you sign the requisition parchments?”
“Certainly.” Severus turned to his companions. “I’ll return shortly.” He followed Madam Pomfrey into her office, leaving his wife with the dying caretaker. They watched him leave, and Hermione felt a frail hand touch hers. She turned back to Mr. Filch and smiled down at him.
He looked a little sheepish, and more than a little troubled. “You know, lass, I never told anyone about, well, you know –“
“I know, Argus. I have only ever told one other, and that’s Severus.” She smiled. “We have no secrets, you know.”
“That’s as it should be. But it’s been on my mind lately.” He smiled gently at her. “I wanted you to know that it were a privilege. It were a special gift, and,” he looked a little shy as he spoke, “I hope it were a gift for you and all.”
Hermione took the old man’s hand in hers, and kissed it. “It was very special, Mr. Filch. It meant a great deal to me.” She felt her tears welling again. “I want you to know I walked out of that cupboard feeling more beautiful than I have ever felt.” Hermione thought sadly to herself, and that’s the truest thing I could ever say.
Mr. Filch nodded, and looked pleadingly at Hermione. “I didn’t think badly of you before, you know! You were so upset, and lonely, and, before I could stop meself,” he sighed at the ‘memory’. “You were as innocent as an angel, and as sweet as the gods have ever made a woman. I hope you don’t think ill of me for it, lass.”
“Of course I don’t! And neither does Severus. How could we? I’ve always been grateful for your kindness, and your gentleness.” Hermione could see the old man fading. “You were my first, you know. I’d never been properly with a man before, and I’ve always been glad it was you, Argus. You were gentle and good with me, and I thank you for introducing me to love in such a selfless way.”
Tears slid past the old man’s temples. “It’s one of my fondest memories, that. You were everything an old man like me could have wished for in life. It were such a fine moment.”
“I’m sorry, Argus,” Severus said, returning to the old man’s bedside. “A Headmaster’s work is truly never done.” He sat down beside Argus, smiling at the withered hand encased in Hermione’s. She caught his eye and nodded.
Argus nodded. “I understand, Headmaster. No matter.” He smiled fondly at Hermione. “Mrs. Snape has been keeping me comp’ny. Such a sweet, kind lass.” He looked at Severus keenly. “You take good care of her, mind.”
Severus put his hand over Hermione’s. “I promise I will, Argus. I promise. You took good care of her then, and I’ll do it now.” Severus felt his throat tighten. “You took good care of all of us, in your own way.”
The old man’s eyes grew dim. “I did m’best, lad.” His voice grew slower, slurring slightly. “I think I’ll take a little kip now, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Argus.” A tear fell from Severus’ dark eyes. “Rest, my friend. You’ve earned it, sir.” He looked at his beloved wife, and saw tears streaming from her lovely eyes.
Hermione leaned over and kissed Argus’ wrinkled brow. “Goodnight, Mr. Filch.”
Moments passed, and the three figures held hands, waiting for the end of the night.
~FIN~
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Date: 2011-01-25 08:40 pm (UTC)But I stuck with it to the end, and I enjoyed it! :-)
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Date: 2011-01-25 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 09:06 pm (UTC)This is such a lovely fic, and by that I include the fiction within the fiction, which in the hands of someone else might well have left me grossed out rather than feeling deeply touched, as well as the story we see once we are able to step back and get the full picture.
It's as clever as a puzzle box, and it resonates with love of every kind from start to end. I really am privileged to have it dedicated to me. It's as if my birthday just came early.
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Date: 2011-01-25 11:13 pm (UTC)Thank you also for your feelings on it. I am glad you felt what I was trying to convey, a little bit of pleasure in a long, often lonely life.
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Date: 2011-01-25 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 11:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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From:Squeeeeeeeee - <lj user="teddyradiator"> dedicated a fic just to me...
Date: 2011-01-25 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-25 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 11:24 pm (UTC)Even at the beginning where I believed it really was AF it was so beautifully written and compelling that I persisted. His dialogue somehow reminded me of Mellors in Lady Chatterley! (Not a bad thing ...).
Very clever and very very touching. LL x
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Date: 2011-01-25 11:28 pm (UTC)Coming from a talent author like yourself, your kind words are very encouraging and treasured.
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Date: 2011-01-25 11:24 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-26 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 11:55 pm (UTC)Great storytelling, m'dear!
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Date: 2011-01-26 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 12:31 am (UTC)Well, it's twenty minutes into Wednesday where I am...
Date: 2011-01-26 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 02:32 am (UTC)I like the idea of an older man being able to show a younger, insecure woman that there is more within her than attracting a shallow, hormone-ridden youth, and this was handled well (even if an older Hermione knew it was really her husband, she had to react believably for the memory - I think your writing took us to that place with her)
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Date: 2011-01-26 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-26 04:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2011-01-26 04:37 am (UTC)I had a lot of fun with this.
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Date: 2011-01-26 05:24 am (UTC)I enjoyed it very much - once I realised that Argus was being nice. :-)
(Yes, I was worried for Hermione before that).
I ended up with tears in my eyes, touched and even a little wistful that it wasn't a real memory (for both of them).
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Date: 2011-01-26 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 09:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 01:30 pm (UTC)I have never done a 'squick fic' (though I never say never), but this little story was brought to you by my Muse - he was definitely driving when I was typing this out.
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Date: 2011-01-26 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 02:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 06:24 pm (UTC)When I first started reading this fic, all I could think was that your Muse was a bit cruel to do this to you and us. And I was ready to abandon it, but then I read your words 'trust me' and I read it. And it's a very beautiful story, that tells us what we are capable and ready to do for our friends.
Keep up the good work! =)
- BlueRavenAngel
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Date: 2011-01-27 02:35 am (UTC)The Encounter
Date: 2011-02-01 10:45 pm (UTC)Re: The Encounter
Date: 2011-02-02 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 06:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 03:26 pm (UTC)congrats and a doubt
Date: 2015-03-21 05:25 pm (UTC)ps: I´m ex writer who closed her account but made a new one just to thank you for this magnificent story.
a tight hug to you,
Maria
Re: congrats and a doubt
Date: 2015-03-21 05:56 pm (UTC)Thank you for your lovely comments, and for going to so much trouble!
In the story, Severus and Hermione enacted this story, with Snape glamoured to look like Filch. Then when Argus was dying, he 'planted' the memory in Filch's mind. It wasn't something that ever actually happened, but something that they wanted to do for the old gentleman, as a kindness on his deathbed.
All of my stories, including original stories, poems, song lyrics, drabbles, etc can be also found on my WordPress blog: https://teddyradiator.wordpress.com.
Again, thank you so much for your lovely words. ♥
Re: congrats and a doubt
From: