Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13863633.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Severus_Snape, Lucius_Malfoy/Narcissa_Black_Malfoy,
      Alecto_Carrow/Antonin_Dolohov, Bellatrix_Black_Lestrange/Rodolphus
      Lestrange
  Character:
      Hermione_Granger, Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter, Ron_Weasley, Tom_Riddle_|
      Voldemort, Lucius_Malfoy, Narcissa_Black_Malfoy, Alecto_Carrow, Antonin
      Dolohov, Fenrir_Greyback, Remus_Lupin, Bellatrix_Black_Lestrange,
      Rodolphus_Lestrange, Thorfinn_Rowle, Draco_Malfoy, Theodore_Nott, Albus
      Dumbledore, Minerva_McGonagall
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Teacher-Student_Relationship, Explicit_Language,
      Blood_and_Violence, Forced_Marriage, Heavy_Angst, Romance
  Collections:
      The_Death_Eater_Express
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-04 Updated: 2018-03-31 Chapters: 15/? Words: 95770
****** Darkness and Silence ******
by Kittenshift17
Summary
     Caught in the Potions classroom when Snape returns from a dangerous
     Death Eater meeting, Hermione is terrified until she sees he's
     wounded and in need of her help. Knowing she should leave before he
     realises her crush, but unable when he needs her, Hermione patches
     him up and is only too happy to show him how grateful she is for all
     he sacrifices.
Notes
     A/N: *stumbles in, blushing.*
     *Drops notes, half-written stories and positively pornographic
     pictures and one-shots all over the floor.*
     *Stammers incoherently*
     *Scrapes up most of the incriminating evidence, save one*
     *scampers away with a squeak*
     xx-Kitten
***** Chapter One *****
                             Darkness_and_Silence
                               By Kittenshift17
===============================================================================
                                  Chapter One
===============================================================================
Hermione looked up, startled when the door to the Potions classroom was flung
wide, banging off the wall and scaring her half to death. She froze in terror,
knowing she wasn't supposed to still be in the dungeons so late. It was well
after hours and she should've gone to bed long ago but she'd been intrigued by
the potion she'd been working on and had lost track of time.
Despite her fear at being caught out of bed, Hermione's heart raced with terror
over something more when the volatile wizard stepped through the door clad in
the robes and mask of a Death Eater. She held perfectly still as Professor
Snape stalked across the room, the door slamming closed behind him so loudly
that it echoed all the way down the corridor and hurt Hermione's ears.
He was trailing blood as he went, she noticed, her eyes fixed on him as she
stood stiff beside her cauldron. He looked in her direction when she belatedly
jumped and tried to hide the evidence of her presence. Hermione felt a chill
run down her spine at the sight. His robes were torn open and he was bleeding
profusely, but that wasn't what caused her distress.
No, Hermione's heart hammered out an uneven and erratic beat because when he
looked at her the eyes glittering behind that terrible mask showed no glimmer
of humanity. She knew he wasn't entirely himself when, despite her presence, he
didn't scold her or scream at her to get out. He didn't speak at all, in fact,
and Hermione watched with growing concern as he stalked to one of the cupboards
behind his desk, which were heavily warded to keep students from raiding them.
He paid no mind to the trail of blood he was leaving in his wake and Hermione's
eyes widened when he opened the cupboard, withdrew a bottle of expensive
looking fire-whiskey, twisted the lid off and lifted it to his lips. He paused
halfway there, his mask still in place and Hermione frowned when he reached
with one bloodied hand to pry it from his face before flinging it carelessly on
the desk.
She wondered if his lack of care at her presence was born of unawareness in his
current mental state, or if it was merely because it was her and he knew she
already knew he was a Death Eater and didn't care if she saw some of the
effects of the perilous job he did for the Order.
"Professor, you're bleeding," Hermione said lamely, her feet carrying her,
unbidden, to his side.
He didn't acknowledge her. He merely threw himself down into his office chair
and continued to skol the contents of the whiskey bottle. Hermione hesitated as
she drew closer, her teeth beginning to chatter and her body trembling with the
cold fury and power he was radiating. She knew what that meant. He probably had
no idea he was bleeding. He was too deeply entrenched in his own Occlumency
shields to feel things like pain.
"Professor, we need to get you to the Hospital Wing," Hermione tried again,
moving closer. Her stomach clenched when she saw the extent of his injuries. It
looked like he'd been set upon by Greyback, five long gouges dripping blood
down his chest. She spied another slash in the fabric and flesh covering his
right thigh – the reason for the blood trail – and Hermione knew he was in real
danger. If she didn't heal him immediately, he could bleed out right there in
his chair long before she could talk him back to humanity enough to feel the
pain of his injuries.
"Bugger," Hermione muttered, flicking her wand and summoning a cauldron to
herself. She scoured it clean quickly before filling it with warm water and
conjuring a cloth. Invading his personal space, Hermione didn't bother asking
permission to touch him or heal him. He'd never have given it, no matter the
danger to his own life, were he aware enough to know what she wanted.
His dark eyes fixed upon her when Hermione invaded his personal space but when
she reached a shaking hand out to touch him and peel back his robes and his
shirt – having to use her wand to get the many buttons undone – he didn't
protest. He simply stared. Hermione hated when he did it to her in his classes,
knowing that he was judging her every move, just waiting for her to make
mistake.
When his chest and stomach were bare, his robes hanging open about his
shoulders, Hermione wrung out the cloth in the hot water and began trying to
bathe off some of the blood. He flinched ever so slightly at the first brush of
warmth against his skin but Hermione met his gaze, offering him a reassuring
smile.
"Professor?" she asked quietly as she worked quickly, trying to clean him up
enough to figure out if regular healing charms would seal the gashes or not.
He made no response, but when she moved and snapped her fingers in front of his
face to ensure he was still in there, he tracked her movements with his eyes.
He drank deeply from his bottle when she pressed the cloth directly to the
cuts, bathing as much of the blood off as she could manage from his chest and
his stomach.
Hermione's cheeks were crimson as she worked, discovering that though they
seemed to have been inflicted by werewolf claws, the gashes responded normally
to a healing charm. When the wounds were sealed, she bathed the skin some more,
leaving no traces of blood behind. She couldn't un-see the pale expanse of his
form, nor could she ignore the wiry span of sinew and muscle that shifted
restlessly under his skin. He was scarred and bony, she noticed, his body
showing the evidence of a life lived hard.
"Professor, I um… I need to heal this one, too," she told him, pointing to the
gash on his thigh. He made no response, though his eyes tracked her finger when
she pointed to the wound. When she met his gaze, wondering what he might
suggest since she couldn't really heal it without stripping him out of his
trousers, there was a dark and wicked gleam in his obsidian eyes. He knew on
some level that she would have to strip him to heal him, and he seemed to know
she was brave enough to do it, no matter the way her hands shook.
Hermione blushed brightly again as she reached for the fastening on his
trousers, wondering if he would stop her. He didn't. He just took another swig
from his bottle and Hermione narrowed her eyes on him when he offered it to
her, a wicked little smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. He must surely
be caught deep in the persona of his Death Eater side to be offering liquor to
a student, no matter that she was of age.
Snatching it from him, Hermione lifted it to her lips and gulped down a few
mouthfuls, steeling her nerves to the task ahead no matter the thrill of wrong-
doing that rushed through her to be drinking alcohol inside the school and in
the company of a teacher. It wasn't that she was embarrassed by the human form
or that she feared the sight of the wound. It was nerves at the idea of seeing
her Potions Professor in even less that he wore now.
He didn't speak when she handed the bottle back to him, coughing a little at
the strength of the concoction. He didn't wipe the lid before drinking deeply
again, tipping his head back as he skolled some more of it and Hermione took
that as all the permission she needed. Despite her shaking hands, she unzipped
his fly and tugged on the fabric of his trousers, jerking them down. He slid
down a little in the chair and he growled in his throat when the fabric grated
over the wound.
Ah, so he was in there after all.
"Sorry, sir," Hermione said, yanking on the pants again until they slid to his
knees. She tugged them again until they bunched at his ankles and Hermione
hissed in annoyance when she had to pause to get his boots off, needing to
completely remove the blood-stained fabric to clean all the blood from his
skin.
He made no protest as she tugged his boots off his feet, first the left and
then the right. She shoved them aside and pulled his pants free of his ankles,
her cheeks on fire at the sight of his socks and the black hair dusting his
legs. She was kneeling as she reached for the cauldron of hot water and
Hermione squeaked in shock and slammed he eyes closed when she turned her
attention back to what she was meant to be doing and found him naked.
He'd been commando under his trousers and Hermione whimpered when she caught
sight of him in all his glory.
"You're going to kill me when you resurface," Hermione muttered, knowing he
still needed healing. Tugging on the long Death Eater cloak he wore, Hermione
laid a portion of the fabric over his crotch and she would swear she could hear
him chuckling as she set to work on his thigh though she didn't dare lift her
eyes to his face, lest he see her mortification. Or worse, her curiosity and
desire.
She bathed the blood off quickly and muttered the charms to heal him. Hermione
froze as she healed the last gouge when he bumped her cheek with the bottle.
Blinking and looking up at him, she found his dark eyes fixed on her face
intently in a way she'd never seen before and Hermione gulped audibly.
"Professor?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
"Professor Snape?" she tried again and a faint flicker of recognition was her
reward. Hermione bit her lip for a moment, butterflies beginning to riot in her
stomach.
"Severus?" she asked quietly, testing his given name for the very first time.
He jerked slightly, and Hermione flinched.
The cold fury and power still emanated from him, but the slow indrawn breath he
took and the way his gaze seemed to sharpen made her think he was coming back
to himself.
"You shouldn't be here," he told her, his voice low and husky in a way she'd
never heard any man speak before and Hermione gulped again.
"I needed to heal you," she whispered, trying to offer explanation.
She didn't realise as she said so, scrambling and trying to make sure he wasn't
going to shout at her, that she'd put her hands on his thighs. His gaze fell to
them and Hermione froze when she realised she'd been smoothing her palms over
his bare skin. Her eyes darted to his bare chest when he took another slow
breath in.
"I am healed," he murmured, and Hermione nodded, watching him slowly reach
forward to set the bottle upon his desk behind his bloodied mask.
Frowning, Hermione reached for his hands when she noted they were still bloody
and he froze at the touch when she held onto him gently, reaching for the cloth
to clean him off once more. Slowly, methodically, Hermione worked the cloth
over his skin, reaching for more and more of him when she realised how much of
him was still bloodstained.
He didn't speak again throughout the entire process and Hermione froze as she
was using one hand to tilt his chin to one side, the other wiping at a smear of
blood on his neck, still on her knees and leaning over him. He'd tangled one
hand into her loose curls and Hermione blinked, realising she was practically
lying in his lap.
Indeed, the feel of his cool fingers gliding against her scalp made her tingle
and Hermione blinked, almost dropping the cloth when she realised that pressing
insistently against her stomach was something hot and hard and apparently just
begging for some of the attention she'd been paying to the rest of him.
Blinking, Hermione slowly reached to set aside the cloth she held before
meeting his gaze and finding his eyes glittering with heat.
"You should go," he told her, his voice husky and sinful in a way that made her
tremble.
Hermione knew he was right, but bugger if she didn't want to. She'd been lying
to herself for months about the growing intrigue and attraction she felt for
Professor Snape and when he looked at her like that, the very last thing she
wanted to do was remove herself from his presence.
"And if I don't want to?" Hermione dared to ask, breathless.
His lips curled into a sinister and wicked smile, and Hermione felt the way his
cock twitched under her. An answering smirk crawled across her face, unbidden,
and Hermione couldn't resist the urge to lower her mouth to his skin. He
tangled his free hand into her hair as she trailed a soft line of kisses across
his chest, kissing across the scars that littered his torso, slowly moving
south.
He made no protest and Hermione nipped him very gently when he snaked a hand
between them enough to move the portion of his cloak before he gripped his
throbbing cock tightly. Hermione traced her hands over his thighs slowly,
converging on the appendage he tormented and she heard his breath hitch as she
kissed her way across his taut stomach while one of her hands carefully
smoothed over him, replacing his own hand upon his length. Her heart was racing
inside her chest, and her knickers were dampening rapidly.
She could barely believe that she dared touch him in such a way – at all – or
that he permitted it. Merlin, from the way his breath hitched ever so slightly,
Hermione felt like he was even encouraging her. She curled her hand around him
carefully, and he stilled, holding his breath as though afraid move and break
whatever spell weaved between them. Hermione could barely believe what she was
planning, no matter the number of times she fantasized about doing such.
Trailing little nips and kisses down his abs, Hermione reached the base of his
cock and she paused momentarily, daring to lift her eyes to his face.
He watched her intently, his eyes glittering with what she suspected was lust,
and Hermione wondered if he would stop her.
"You will regret this," he murmured when she trailed butterfly kisses toward
the tip of his cock.
"Perhaps," Hermione agreed softly, smoothing her hand toward his base as she
kissed to the end of his cock. She smirked just a little before she licked at
the weeping head, tasting him for the first time.
He didn't react like any of the other boys had when she'd done this to them.
Not that she'd done it to many, but both Ron and Viktor had hissed in surprise
and approval when she licked them. Not Snape. He was too controlled for that.
The only indication she had of his enjoyment was the slightest tightening on
his hand in her hair.
"I will regret this," he muttered.
"Most assuredly," Hermione agreed before engulfing the head of his cock in her
eager mouth.
His hands tightened in her hair even more as she slowly worked her mouth over
him, inches of him disappearing inside her. He never made a sound, silent in
the darkness, but Hermione had expected nothing less. He wasn't the type to
mutter a string of profanities like Ron, or to murmur sweet nothings and words
of praise in a foreign tongue like Viktor.
No, all Severus Snape offered as a form of approval was a tightly controlled
sigh of contentment and the faintest relaxation of taut muscle. Some of the
cold radiating from him dimmed and Hermione was sure she might die of the
combined desire, mortification, and terror she felt right then. Desire to bring
him to completion and to exchange her mouth upon his body for the feel of
impaling herself on his silken steel length. Mortification borne of the logical
side of her brain that was indignantly pointing out all the reasons that this
was wrong, ranging from the fact that he was her teacher, her elder, and a
Death Eater, right through to wretched thoughts that if anyone ever found out,
she'd never live it down. And worst of all, terror. Terror that he would tell
her to stop. Terror that he might push her away and unleash that impossibly
dirked tongue of his, spitting venom and fury at her when he regained his full
range of emotions and rationalities.
Unwilling to risk it, Hermione bobbed her head, hollowing her cheeks on each
upward stroke, swallowing as much of him as she could on each return. When she
dared another glance at him, his eyes were closed, his head tipped back against
his chair, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. Hermione swirled her tongue over
him and he drew in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping open to meet her own.
They glittered with heat and Hermione's pussy throbbed. Merlin, she wanted to
stand and straddle him. She wanted to feel each glorious inch of his cock
sliding inside her until he was so firmly lodged, he might never be free.
Belatedly, she realised he was probably using Legilimency on her and listening
to her every thought, but he showed no sign of it. He never did. She knew he
used it in class, filtering out the wretched thoughts most students entertained
about him in favour of plucking ways to embarrass them from their own minds.
She knew that on more than one occasion, had he been listening, he'd have heard
her traitorously lustful thoughts as they pertained to him. She'd become
intrigued without really noticing, if she was honest. It had begun simply by
listening to his voice as he explained the method for correctly preparing
ingredients for potion making. It had grown a little keener when she'd paid
attention to the way his long, dexterous fingers so carefully and skilfully
handled ingredients. She'd begun to watch him without meaning to, admiring the
sinuous grace of his form as he stalked – looking beyond the flaring of his
ever-present cloak that billowed so. She'd paid more attention to him not as
her teacher, but merely as a man. A man with thoughts and feelings and wants
and needs and too often she'd wondered who – if anyone – saw to his wants and
needs.
Before she'd known it, she'd begun wishing that she could be the one seeing to
his needs, and now here she knelt, pleasuring him. And despite his silence, she
could tell he was pleased – or at the very least, enjoying the physical
sensation she offered.
Hermione squeaked when his hands slipped from her hair to cup her jaw gently.
The faint pressure of his hands on her made her moan in protest, realising he
was trying to pry her off him. Hermione lifted her eyes to his and she frowned,
not wanting to be pulled off. She released him in surprise when he chuckled
very softly, amused by her protest.
"Come up here," he murmured, smoothing his fingers down the length of her neck
and to her collarbones. Hermione rose slowly, standing when he urged her to her
feet.
She held her breath, her heart pounding against her ribs so hard it hurt as he
held her gaze while his nimble fingers deftly unbuttoned her shirt until it
hung open, revealing her modest white brassier. He traced the very tips of his
fingers over the swell of her breasts and across her stomach until he met the
waistband of her jeans. Hermione was panting by the time he popped the button
open, and the rasp of her zipper was like exquisite torture as he slid it down,
his gaze never wavering from hers.
"Are you afraid?" he asked in a low, sinful voice that made her tremble.
Hermione shook her head slowly from side to side, reaching to rest her hands on
his shoulders when he opened her jeans and began working them down her legs.
His lips twitched when they were bunched at her ankles, and Hermione slipped
her shoes off before stepping out of them. He deliberately traced his gaze over
her body in that cold, assessing way of his, and Hermione trembled all the more
when his fingers toyed with the little bow stitched on the front of her black
knickers.
"Have you done this before?" he asked just as quietly.
Hermione was torn. She'd certainly had sex before, but she'd never felt so much
like vibrating out of her skin or like she was going to explode with lust and
need. She'd never been touched so gently as when he traced patterns across her
stomach with his thumbs, drawing runes and circles that made her want to melt
into his embrace.
She nodded her head slowly when he lifted his eyes to her face, stilling as he
awaited her answer. Another twitch of his lips belied that he was pleased she
was experienced and Hermione hoped it was because he had no intention of going
easy on her or being gentle with her. He wasn't a gentle or a nice man and she
didn't expect him to shag like he was.
When he slid his hands under the waistband of her knickers, Hermione
practically vibrated with need and he smirked wickedly at her before he flicked
them off her hips, sending them skidding down her thighs to puddle at her feet,
leaving her bare to his gaze.
He gripped her hips lightly, steering her further around in front of himself
before pushing her back against his desk. Hermione squeaked when he lifted her
with apparent ease, sitting her on the edge of his desk. He nudged her legs
apart and Hermione gulped, realising what he meant to do when one hand slid up
to press to the middle of her chest, pushing her backward until she was lying
across the desk with him between her thighs.
Hermione writhed with apprehension and excitement when she felt his free hand
smoothing slowly across her abdomen and then lower. His fingers danced through
the neatly trimmed curls as her core and when he sliced two fingers the length
of her slit they were frigidly cold and a complete contrast to her hot,
throbbing flesh. She cried out when he drove two long digits deep inside her
without warning, her pussy so wet that he met with no resistance.
She arched into the touch, her head thrown back and a low moan drawn from her
at the caress. Gods, she had ached for this and she was terrified that any
minute now, she would wake and find this was all a dream. Not the first she'd
endured, either.
"Fantasizing about me, Miss Granger?" he asked as he beckoned with those clever
fingers deep inside of her.
She was beyond words, inarticulate with pleasurable delirium, but Hermione knew
he didn't need her to say it to confirm the truth of it. All he had to do was
peek inside her head and he'd have his answer. She dreamed of nights spent in
his embrace and Hermione whimpered when he leaned forward without warning and
suckled her clit into his mouth, his fingers still beckoning inside her.
Gods, she was going to explode and he'd barely touched her. Hermione whimpered,
her eyes crossing and her legs trying to snap shut on him in a desperate effort
to protect herself, as though they might stave off the devastation that
promised should the tidal wave of pleasure be allowed to reach it's crescendo.
His bony shoulders hindered their closing and his wicked chuckle titillated her
senses, making her wild.
Without meaning to, Hermione tangled her hands in his dark hair, weaving her
fingers through the fine strands as she arched into his touch. The caress of
his lips and his tongue combined with that of his fingers and she was certain
she was dying a pleasurable, happy death as he tormented her mercilessly.
Butterflies rioted in her stomach and fire crackled across her senses.
Fireworks began behind her eyes and Hermione huffed out a breathy little moan
of completion when the wave crested, slamming into her and knocking the breath
from her lungs even as she clamped tightly around his fingers.
Another of those wicked chuckles accompanied his withdrawal and before Hermione
could mewl needily, her body feeling boneless with bliss, he peeled her off the
desk, skidding her across the surface and pulling her into his lap. Hermione
moaned when he perfectly performed the move in such a manner that before her
orgasm petered out, she found herself impaled upon his throbbing cock, her legs
straddling his, and her hands knotted in his hair. His arms were strong and
secure around her back, holding her to him and Hermione moaned when he trailed
a line of kisses across her chest, rocking under her and driving himself
deeper.
Delirious with pleasure, Hermione rolled her hips, rocking into each thrust of
his hips and arching under his mouth. She could feel the tremble in his muscles
and the puff of his breath as he worked himself into a frenzy, using her for
his own pleasure even as he pushed her toward completion once more. When she
was certain she couldn't take another moment of the sweet torture, his breath
hitched and his hips snapped and Hermione broke as he groaned very softly, his
forehead resting against her shoulder as he spent himself inside her.
Hermione sighed as the high slowly wore off, still intimately entwined with him
and not at all interested in moving. His hands kneaded her lower back just hard
enough to make her groan and she surrendered her weight to him, leaning against
his chest as he slowly leaned back in his chair with her sprawled across him in
the closest thing to cuddling that she imagined he might ever permit. Hermione
let her eyes drift closed, simply breathing in the scent of his skin and
focusing on the warmth that seemed to finally begin emitting from him, rather
than the power and cold fury he'd been radiating since he walked in.
The hiss of a cauldron penetrated her hazy mind slowly and Hermione turned her
head where it rested on his shoulder, her eyes narrowing on the potion she'd
been brewing in the corner of the room.
"What were you brewing, Miss Granger?" he asked quietly, tensing slowly under
her once more as the quiet moment of bliss was broken.
"Bruise Salve," she sighed, frowning as an acrid odour began emitting from the
neglected potion.
"You have over-cooked it and created Garrotting Gas," he observed and Hermione
had never heard him sound so utterly blasé about the destruction of a potion.
"Seems that way," Hermione agreed, making no move to intercede with the potion,
not wanting to get off him quite yet.
"You can't stay there forever, you know?" he asked dryly, apparently caught
somewhere between disapproval and amusement.
"No," Hermione sighed. "I suppose not."
As she slowly peeled herself off him and leaned back until she could peer into
his face, Hermione coughed lightly, frowning.
"Off, now," he commanded. "Quickly. Before we both begin to choke."
Hermione nodded, squirming in his lap until she got her feet under her and
could stand. The wetness between her legs felt uncomfortable as he slipped free
of her folds and Hermione stumbled back a step until she hit his desk when he
stood quickly, the cloak still hanging about his shoulders falling forward to
keep his modesty as he fished out his wand and flicked it at the cauldron,
Vanishing the contents and dousing the flame. Another flick cleared the air and
Hermione felt her mind kick-start once more when he slowly turned his dark eyes
on her, watching her with an unreadable expression. Standing once more and
towering over her, Hermione remembered all too well why the younger students
cowered in his presence and why the older ones didn't dare to argue with his
directives unless they had a death wish.
He exuded power. It oozed from his pores and radiated from his person in such a
way that had she not already been pressed up against the desk with her shirt
hanging open and her knickers tangled about her feet, she'd have taken a
cautious step back.
"You shouldn't be here, Miss Granger," he informed her, his brow furrowing as
though just realising that her presence there so late at night meant she was
out after curfew.
"I know," she nodded. "I lost track of time brewing, and then you returned…. I
might've been a little distracted after that."
He sniffed imperiously, though a wicked gleam in his eyes belied his sardonic
amusement.
"So, to be clear on the extent of your rule-breaking, you are out of bed after
hours, making use of school supplies and equipment without permission, and have
been canoodling on school grounds. You are in breach of the dress code, and you
are not showing proper respect for a teacher of this school. What do you have
to say for yourself?"
"That I've never shown as much respect for any teacher as I've shown you this
evening," Hermione retorted, her pride flaring. "Sir."
His smirk was purely wicked as he took a step closer to her. Hermione leaned
back, not at all feeling safe when he looked at her like that. She made to lean
her hands on the desk and she hissed in surprise when his hand shot out to grip
her wrist tightly just before she could touch his discarded Death Eater mask.
The smirk he wore, that she might've called playful, disappeared in an instant
and he jerked her away from the mask before she could comprehend what was
happening.
"Never touch that, Miss Granger," he warned, his voice losing its mildly
teasing lilt and returning to the serious, no-nonsense tone he used in his
everyday teaching.
"Yes, sir," Hermione whispered, her eyes widening when he flicked his wand once
more, levitating the blood-stained mask from the desk and sending it whizzing
through the door that led to his office, and then to his private quarters
beyond the classroom.
She recognised in an instant that whatever strange moment they'd shared that
had left them both sated and pant-less was over and Hermione stepped back out
of his hold once more. Her cheeks flushed crimson as he re-drew the line
between student and teacher. Ducking down, Hermione scooped up her knickers,
her jeans, and her shoes, and she scurried to the far side of the desk to don
them. She didn't dare look at him again as he dressed himself once more.
She couldn't believe what they'd done and her mind began to race with fear over
the repercussions of their actions. Unable to look at him again, fearful of his
reaction, Hermione pressed her lips together and twitched her hands. She wanted
to leave before he could say something hurtful about her morals or her obvious
stupidity, or before he could tell her what a mistake they'd just made. She
wanted to, but she didn't dare. Not until he dismissed her. She didn't doubt he
would give her detention or dock house points for all the infractions he'd
listed.
Hermione darted a nervous glance in his direction when the scratching of a
quill caught her attention and she watched, brow furrowed, as he scrawled out a
hasty note.
"Return to bed, Miss Granger," he commanded, thrusting the piece of parchment
in her direction when he laid down his quill.
Hermione blinked, taking it automatically and nearly jumping out of her skin
when her fingers brushed his. She noticed idly that the floor was damp as she
backed away, belatedly realising that both the cauldron she'd used to clean the
blood off him and the whiskey bottle he'd been skolling had toppled from the
desk amid the throes of passion. She hadn't even heard the clang or the tinkle
of a falling cauldron or shattering glass and Hermione's cheeks warmed even
more.
"Yes, sir," Hermione whispered, accepting the note – a permission slip for
being out of bed after hours - and her instructions. "Thank you, sir."
He narrowed his eyes on her and Hermione blushed brightly, realising he thought
she was thanking him for the sex. She held the note up indicatively, unable to
articulate her meaning of gratitude for the note, though she was grateful for
the sex, too.
Hermione scuttled over to the desk where she'd been brewing and flicked her
wand, watching her notes and her equipment pack themselves up and tuck
themselves back into her bag. She slung the bag onto her shoulder and she
didn't wait for him to speak again before she headed for the door. A lesser man
might've threatened her or warned her to keep her mouth shut about what they'd
done. A more caring man might've thanked her, or at the very least offered to
walk her back to her dormitory or even bid her goodnight.
Not Snape.
He didn't say a word, though his eyes tracked her every step as she left the
room, meeting her gaze unapologetically when she looked back from the doorway.
Hermione bit her lip, taking in his dishevelled appearance, his ruffled hair
and his rumpled clothing. His cheeks bore the faintest tint of colour from
their exertions, barely perceptible in the darkness of the dungeon classroom,
but as she hurried away, Hermione couldn't help the smile that crawled across
her face or the spring that crept into her step.
She didn't know how she would face him in tomorrow's Potions class, or how she
would explain to Harry and Ron why it was that she didn't have fresh pots of
Bruise Salve to hand out to them to better treat their Quidditch Training
injuries. She didn't know how she would get through the day without thinking
about the sweet feel of his mouth on her body and his fingers beckoning deep
inside her. She didn't know how she would ever look upon his desk whilst
delivering samples of her potions for class without blushing and recalling the
way she'd sprawled across it while he licked her pussy. How would she ever see
him sitting in his chair and not daydream of straddling his lap and riding him
once more?
As she trailed away, revelling in the darkness and silence of the cold
corridors while she climbed toward Gryffindor Tower, Hermione didn't know how
she was going to ever forget what she'd just done. And she didn't mind a bit,
because if the memory of his body moving so intimately with hers was the last
she could recall on her deathbed, that would be fine with her.
***** Chapter 2 *****
                                  Chapter Two
===============================================================================
Severus leaned against the wall of the shower, letting the frigidly cold spray
cascade over his body and trying to get the wretchedly inappropriate thoughts
out of his head. He was a fool. Never, in all his years of teaching, had he
lowered or debased himself enough to have a fucked a student under his tutelage
and he was beyond disgusted with himself over what had occurred late last night
in his classroom.
As Head of Slytherin House, and as a man known to certain pureblood families as
being aligned with the Dark Lord, Severus hadn't been lacking in offers from
some of his senior female Slytherins, and he'd resolutely turned them all down.
He had more respect for his position, and more than enough lies to keep track
of as he played the treacherous double agent flitting between the Dark Lord and
the Order of the Phoenix. He didn't need the complication of fucking a student
and he didn't want to be a cradle-robbing cad who abused his position of power
of any student.
And yet, he had fucked her.
She was insufferable. A know-it-all. Pompous. A Gryffindor. She was stubborn
and arrogant and exceedingly annoying in his classes. She was a curly-haired,
studious, passingly pretty girl. She certainly wasn't the type of
breathtakingly beautiful specimen that ought to have lured him from his
resistance and his abstinence. Beyond her wicked intellect, there was little
that was altogether memorable or tempting about her.
And yet, he'd fucked her.
Severus pounded his fist against the cold stone wall of the shower in
frustration. He'd fucked up. Badly. He knew it. Oh, he doubted the girl was the
type to attempt to blackmail him over his moment of weakness. She would be too
concerned by the thought of what her bumbling dunderheaded friends might say to
find out she'd fucked him. She'd been too worried about the accusations of
fucking teachers for her good grades. She was probably too smart to expose
herself to their ridicule, and until last night, he'd thought her smart enough
not to make so foolish a decision as to get within three feet of him.
He'd been stupid. It wasn't that he didn't fuck, though he admittedly hadn't in
a while before last night. Not that many of his recent encounters had been of
his own volition. He might've chosen to participate, but it was usually on the
orders of the Dark Lord at a revel, or for the sake of making an example out of
someone, or merely because it was expected of him. He didn't think any of his
recent partners, save Miss Granger, had been any more willing than he.
And now he'd gone and cocked everything up, fucked one of his least favourite
students, and let her catch him in a vulnerable state. Last night's meeting had
not at all gone as planned and Severus had been disgruntled to learn some of
his news to pass to the Dark Lord was second-hand knowledge thanks to a rat in
their midst. He'd been punished by the Dark Lord, first with the Cruciatus
curse, and then had been set upon by Greyback for the sake of leaving a mark.
Severus knew the Dark Lord had intended to have the wolf scar him, so that he
might remember in future to better do his job as a spy.
He might've stumbled back to the school in pain and dripping a trail of blood,
but he had no excuse for his behaviour. The minute he'd spied the girl in the
classroom, he should've sent her on her way, even before she could heal him. He
hadn't. Severus loathed himself for his weakness to know that in a rare moment
of deep Occlumination, he'd given in to the urge to let someone other than
Albus and Poppy see the sacrifices he made for the sake of their safety. The
girl was close with Potter, and already knew he was a Death Eater. He didn't
have to hide it from her, and it might do some bloody good to have her be able
to pass on to her friends that he suffered every time he went to the Dark Lord,
rather than allowing them to think his loyalties were torn.
He should've sent her away. He should've screamed at her to get the hell out
and he should've never let her touch him. But he hadn't. At first, the
Occlumency making him distant and cold, Severus had hoped the girl might be
able to help talk him back to his humanity – which he'd been in real danger of
losing. She hadn't recoiled in terror at the sight of him in his mask, and she
hadn't swooned or even balked at the sight of blood. As he'd hoped she might,
she'd tried to help him.
Severus blinked his eyes open slowly, glaring at his cock where it jutted
proudly despite the frigid water. The wretched thing was proud of itself.
Fisting the appendage, Severus tried to will it to wilt. He shouldn't be
standing in his morning shower with a hard dick, reliving memories of fucking a
student. He had enough sins to agonise over without adding this, and yet his
cock was determined to remind him.
He loathed that she'd been so warm, and so willing. He hadn't expected that.
He'd sensed her wariness in cleaning him up and healing him. He'd known he made
her nervous as he watched her, allowing her to undress him and to bathe his
skin of blood. He'd never dreamed she'd peel him out of his trousers to heal
his thigh, and he'd certainly never expected her to look at him so hotly as she
realised she was touching him so intimately.
He could think of a million excuses for his actions. He'd been in pain. He'd
been tortured at the meeting. He'd needed to regain and reaffirm his humanity.
He'd been drinking. He'd been lonely and horny and fucking pathetic. She'd been
there, and she'd been the one to say she didn't want to go.
All were true, all were valid, and all were still not fucking good enough to
explain why he'd done what he did. He hadn't expected her to suck his cock.
He'd thought maybe the little witch might try to kiss his lips and touch his
skin, before balking and shying away. He should've known better than to doubt
the nerve of a Gryffindor. She'd eagerly sucked him off and Severus couldn't
remember the last time a witch had willingly and so enthusiastically lavished
him with such attention. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed it.
Yet, Miss Granger had done so. She'd even protested having to stop before she
was finished, and he smirked just a little, his hand beginning to smooth along
the length of his shaft, the other twisting the hot-tap on since the cold
wasn't cooling his ardour.
Severus shook his head to himself, closing his eyes and recalling the wet heat
of her mouth, before recalling the sweet taste of her when he'd returned the
favour. Circe's cunt, he was in over his head and he didn't know what to do
about it. He wasn't concerned she would tell anyone, and he wasn't worried
about being manipulated for better grades or kinder treatment. But this
couldn't be allowed to continue, unaddressed. Not that his cock, or his hand,
seemed to care much for his stern resolution.
He cursed when heat scalded down his back and shot up from his toes, all of it
converging and squirting from the end of his cock. The spray of the shower
washed it away and he wondered how in the hell he was supposed to get through
the day when he'd have to face the witch in short order. He would be teaching
the sixth years in Potions today, much to his displeasure thanks to an untimely
illness of Horace's, and he had them again after lunch for Defence. Severus
very much wanted to Avada himself at the thought.
How was he to teach her now? He'd never fucked a student. He rarely even fucked
people he ever had to see or speak to again. How was he to sternly command Miss
Granger and her peers to focus on their lessons when he knew what her cunt
tasted like? How was he to sit at his desk in the Potions classroom without
recalling the feel of her writhing in his lap, impaled upon his cock and
squeezing him inside her velvet heat?
Oh, he could do it. He was a skilled Occlumens and used to feigning emotions
and expressions for the sake of a role. Hell, he often did it in class,
refraining from killing the hapless dunderheads under his tutelage, but he'd
never done it for the sake of remaining stoic in the face of having fucked
someone he ought not to have fucked. Gritting his teeth, Severus got on with
his shower, washing his hair and his skin thoroughly to ensure no trace of
blood or Miss Granger's essence remained. He would never be able to look her in
the eye if he could still taste her on his tongue, and right now, he could.
Scowling, Severus found his already surly demeanour worsening by the second as
he prepared for the day, certain he was being mocked by whatever deity seemed
to intent of royally fucking him over at every turn. He slammed the door to his
quarters and he docked twenty house points, put three students in detention,
and threatened another into wetting her pants all before breakfast.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered as they made their way toward Charms right after
breakfast that morning. "Might be best to skip Potions and Defence today.
Snape's in fine form."
Harry was nodding before Hermione could even open her mouth.
"You can't just skip two lessons for the day just because you're afraid of
Professor Snape's temper," she chided.
"Hermione, he just made a seventh-year cry," Ron pointed out. "It's not fear.
It's a strong sense of self-preservation. You know he hates us more than he
hates most of the students."
"He doesn't," Hermione insisted. "He probably doesn't even spare us a thought.
You're imagining yourself entirely too special, Ronald."
"Hermione, he goes out of his way to make my life miserable," Harry reminded
her.
"You can't skip two lessons in one day," she insisted.
"I'm not going," Harry told her. "I don't have a death wish, and I don't know
what flew up his arse, but it's obviously toxic. I'm not going near the greasy
git."
Hermione winced.
"Maybe we'll go, if you figure out a way to siphon some of your cheerfulness
into him," Ron said blithely. "You're practically bouncing you're in such a
good mood."
"Yeah, why are you so cheerful, Hermione?" Harry wanted to know.
"We have a test today," Hermione said brightly, grinning. She knew she was
entirely too perky today, but she couldn't help it. She'd never slept so well,
and one of her fantasies had become a glorious reality last night. She didn't
think anything would dampen her spirits today. Not even Snape's positively
wretched mood.
Apparently, he wasn't as thrilled over their interactions the previous evening
as her. Hermione didn't let the thought bother her. She'd never deluded herself
to think he might like her as a person. She'd never imagined she'd get to shag
him, either. But that wasn't the point. She refused to let his being a foul-
tempered git infect her happiness.
"You're twisted, you know that?" Ron laughed. "Excited about a test? Really?"
"As opposed to being excited for Quidditch practice?" Hermione scoffed in
return.
"Quidditch is exciting," Harry assured her. "What've we got a test for,
anyway?"
"Defence," Hermione grinned. "So, if you skip the class, you'll be
in big trouble."
Harry and Ron both groaned before following her into Charms.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
The wretched girl was positively brimming with cheerfulness, Severus noted with
disgust as she bounced into Potions with her bag over her shoulder. Everyone in
the room had obviously witnessed his foul mood at breakfast, and they all fell
silent on their approach to the door into his classroom. Sombre and wary
expressions were worn by all, except Miss Granger.
Severus opened his mouth, intent on berating her for being too perky, before he
realised something. Using Legilimency, he was already eavesdropping on her
thoughts and had she been thinking simpering, stupid thoughts or fondly
recalling last night he'd planned on giving her detention on the spot or even
throwing her out of class. Only, she wasn't thinking about last night at all.
She wasn't thinking about him, or what he'd done to her at this very desk.
She was reciting information about her Charms lesson and making mental notes on
the homework she'd been given and the sources she would need to complete them.
Severus narrowed his eyes on her hatefully. He didn't know if he should be
relieved or insulted that she hadn't spared him, or the scene of their crime, a
single thought.
Was she such a trollop that she thought nothing of being fucked senseless? Did
she so often seduce wizards that she barely registered their efforts? She'd
been responsive enough during their encounter, and she'd admitted experience,
but he'd been able to tell from her wariness and her nervousness that she
hadn't been with many wizards, no matter his unkind musings.
Perhaps she'd noted his foul mood, known he would be using Legilimency, and was
purposely thinking about anything other than what they'd done. No, that was
likely giving her too much credit.
He waited impatiently for the rest of the students to arrive, watching with
narrowed eyes as Weasley and Potter skulked behind Granger and over to one of
the desks in the back of the room as though that might keep them from drawing
his ire. Severus almost sneered, thinking about splitting them up just to annoy
them. He wouldn't mind stripping Gryffindor of another hundred points and he
already had enough little bastards lined up for detention tonight that two more
wouldn't hurt.
But he bit back the urge, knowing it would be unwise to draw unnecessary
attention to them or to Miss Granger, who was foolishly displaying that unlike
everyone else, she wasn't afraid of catching his temper this morning.
And she wasn't. She hadn't spared it a thought. He watched out the corner of
his eye as she set down her book bag and folded her hands neatly on the table,
awaiting instruction to see if this would be a theory or a practical lesson.
Smart girl. He watched some of the others hopefully pull out their books, none
of them liking the idea of drawing his ire with pathetic brewing attempts. A
cruel smile curled his lips and toward the front of the room the Abbott girl
whimpered in terror.
"Today you'll all be brewing Felix Felicius," he informed them. "The
instructions are on the board."
He flicked his wand, listening to groans and gasps of horror to have been given
the most finnicky and complicated potion on their brewing list for the year.
"Retrieve what you require from the store room. Begin immediately. All of you
are impossibly stupid and should not have been accepted into the NEWT level
class. As such, I expect more than one of you will suffer the amputation of an
appendage today thanks to your ineptitude."
Mutters and loathing filled the room, but no one dared contradict him. Not even
Miss Granger, though she levelled him a defiant look at the assertion that
there wasn't a single NEWT student who deserved the right to continue the study
of Potions beyond the OWL.
"Be warned that you will be given two chances to get it right. The second
attempt – after you inevitably destroy the first attempt – will be tested on
each of you. You will ingest whatever you have created before the end of the
lesson, so unless you all wish to spend your lunch break spilling your pumpkin
juice and choking on every bite, ensure that you get the potion correct, or
endure the bad luck that will follow."
Suitably terrified, the students all scrambled for the cupboard, intent on
ensuring they got the best ingredients and equipment to better their chances.
He watched with some amusement when Potter and Malfoy wrestled for a jar of
shrivel-figs, and laughed cruelly when Parkinson snatched everything from
Abbott, making the girl cry with a swift kick to the shins.
Several minutes later, Severus narrowed his eyes when an argument broke out in
the storeroom. Before he could stalk across the room to investigate, Miss
Granger stomped out.
"Honestly, you're all a bunch of bloody cowards," she chastised over her
shoulder, berating her fellow Gryffindors and a few Hufflepuffs.
Severus glared hatefully as she stomped right up to him.
"Professor Snape, the store of Silver Wings has been completely depleted," she
informed him briskly, holding his gaze and raising her chin, completely focused
on her request, rather than any memory of riding his cock. "Are there more in
the other storerooms?"
She didn't even flinch when he curled his lip and the rest of the class held
their breath, waiting for him to explode at her.
"Check the back-storage room," he sneered coolly.
She nodded sharply once, stepping around him and crossing the floor. Severus
watched her, waiting for her to encounter the hexes and locking charms he put
on the back-storage cupboard to ensure no thieving little brats raided it. He
narrowed his eyes when she pulled her wand from her pocket and gave it a
familiar-looking little twist and jab – Severus's usual disabling and unlocking
charm. Without a moment's hesitation she twisted the doorknob and pushed open
the door.
He hated himself for recalling the feel of her hot little hand gripping his
cock just like that. Before he could think of some sneering way to punish her
for knowing how to access his stores, she disappeared, only to remerge a moment
later, slamming the door behind her and dashing across the room.
"Peeves is in there," she informed him, stopping directly in front of him and,
dare he say, looking slightly frightened.
A loud raspberry, followed by the sound of breaking glass and toppling shelves
rent the air and the class went dead silent.
"PEEVES!" Severus snarled, pushing past Miss Granger and crossing to the door.
He flung it open so hard the wood splintered and the poltergeist inside paused
in his destruction to stare at him wide-eyed.
"Professor Snape!" he exclaimed, his eyes going wide with terror. Severus
realised the ghostly menace had assumed Horace was teaching the class today.
Before he could zoom away, Severus cursed him. Twisting him wand like a
corkscrew, he picked up the nearest empty specimen jar and sucked the
poltergeist into it like he were a genie. Peeves screamed as he was cramped
into the tiny confined space, the curse Severus had used managing to lock him
in and preventing his escape.
"Oh, wow," Miss Granger's voice came from immediately behind him, apparently
having followed him to the storeroom to investigate the screaming poltergeist.
Severus closed his eyes against the memory of her breathy little "ohs" from
last night, twisting the lid on to the jar and trapping the poltergeist inside.
"I've never seen anyone trap a non-corporeal being like that, sir," Granger was
saying while Severus narrowed his eyes on the damage the poltergeist had done
to the storeroom. He flicked his wand again, repairing the broken jars and
righting the shelves. Nothing could be done to salvage the destroyed and
contaminated potion ingredients.
"Miss Granger?" Severus said, finally speaking and very much aware that the
entire class was listening, awaiting his reaction to such destruction.
"Yes, sir?" Granger asked, obviously unaware that she was about to land in
extremely hot water.
"Tell me," he said, his voice lowering to a silken purr. "How do you imagine
Peeves managed to penetrate my heavily warded storeroom?"
He turned toward her slowly, listening to the muffled screaming of the
poltergeist trapped inside the jar. When he narrowed cold eyes on Miss Granger,
knowing exactly who was responsible for having incorrectly warded the room
against invasion by non-corporeals, she gulped. Ah, so she had been raiding his
storeroom last night when she'd been in here brewing.
"Erm," she managed inarticulately.
"Detention, Miss Granger," he snarled at her. "For the wilful sabotage of
school wards, and the theft of ingredients."
"You don't know it was her!" Potter's voice protested from the back and Severus
watched Granger close her eyes in horror.
"Mr Potter, you will serve a month's detention and miss Quidditch practice for
that entire time for your insolence."
"But…" Potter began hotly before Granger's wand arm twitched, using a Silencing
charm on the boy.
"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, lowering her gaze deferentially.
"Snivelling apologies will not replace hundreds of Galleons worth of rare and
expensive Potions ingredients, Miss Granger. You will also be serving a month's
detention, in addition to costing Gryffindor fifty house points."
She didn't argue, though he almost hoped she would.
"Yes, sir," she murmured.
"How does he know it was her?" Parkinson whispered to Malfoy, apparently
confused.
"Collect the Silver Wings from the storeroom and commence brewing, Miss
Granger," Severus instructed coldly.
She nodded, stepping around him and entering the storeroom once more – a
muttered Vanishing charm cleaning the mess on the floor. He heard her sigh very
softly.
"Professor Snape?" she asked quietly, and Severus waited, his back to her, his
eyes dancing over the rest of the class and assessing their reactions while the
poltergeist in the jar continued to scream. "The Silver Wings in storage here
were destroyed, sir."
Severus curled his lip.
"I trust you know the way to the cupboards down the hall?" he asked without
looking at her. "Be warned, if they are similarly destroyed because of your
carelessness, Miss Granger, you will spend the entire year in detention."
"Yes, sir," she murmured again, walking quickly as she crossed from the storage
room behind his desk and made for the door, intent on fetching what was needed.
"Bring Acromantula Venom back with you, Miss Granger," Severus said before she
could slip out the classroom door. "I'm certain at least one of you will need
it before the class ends. Back to work!"
She nodded, refusing to look at him. The rest of the class jumped to attention,
returning their focus to the potion at hand. Severus smirked, watching Potter
continue trying to argue with him over Granger's guilt, his mouth moving while
no words escaped thanks to the Silencing charm. In no mood to listen to the
furious twat arguing with him further, Severus refrained from lifting the charm
as he set the jar filled with Peeves on the corner of his desk, ignoring the
continued screams interspersed with tapping upon the glass as the poltergeist
tried to draw his attention to let him out. Severus smirked cruelly, watching
and waiting for Miss Granger to return while many of the students began the
difficult task of brewing Felix Felicius. None of them seemed to comprehend how
much luck was already on their side that they were managing to avoid drawing
his ire.
***** Chapter Three *****
                                 Chapter Three
===============================================================================
Hermione held her breath as she entered the store cupboard down the hall from
Snape's classroom. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten to ward the one in the
classroom against ghosts – knowing that Peeves had a nasty habit of creating
mayhem everywhere he went. She'd been so stupid and so distracted, and her
cheeks were burning to think that it was entirely because when she'd been in
there last night looking for ingredients, she'd been too concerned with her
daydreams about being trapped in there with Professor Snape. She'd been too
caught up in fantasy of being ravished on the dingy, uneven floor in there by
the dour Potions Master to even remember to re-layer all the wards he used to
protect the store.
Mortified, and furious with herself for landing in so many detentions as a
result, Hermione peered into the cupboard in the hall, relieved to see that
this one, she'd remembered to properly ward. Or maybe Peeves just hadn't gotten
to it yet, because it wasn't in a mess. Hurrying inside, knowing she wouldn't
get any extra time to work on her potion assignment for the day's lesson just
because she was dawdling, Hermione collected a few jars of Silver Wings and the
small phial of Acromantula Venom that Professor Snape had asked for.
She was just about to leave the room again when she spied a small phial
glittering on one of the top shelves and Hermione's stomach flipped. Essence of
Ergot. An essential ingredient for the world's strongest contraceptive potion
to be ingested after coitus had taken place. Hermione blinked before looking
toward the exit and back at the phial. She was going to need something
contraceptive, and soon, if she didn't want to end up pregnant in her sixth
year with her Professor's baby.
Actually, she was surprised he hadn't already suggested or mentioned it. He
really must've been lost in his Death Eater persona last night. Hermione
frowned, wondering if that meant she'd taken advantage of him or if it just
meant she'd gotten to shag Severus Snape, Death Eater; not Severus Snape,
Hogwarts Professor. She didn't for a second doubt that he kept the two sides of
his life separated. She'd seen it in the wicked and sensual way he'd looked at
her last night and felt it in the way he'd touched her.
No, the Hogwarts professor she'd just been berated by was nothing like the man
she'd healed and shagged last night. Frowning to herself, Hermione summoned the
phial from the top shelf and pocketed it, making a mental note to find a safe
place tonight to brew the contraceptive potion – the wizarding equivalent of a
morning-after pill. She could've gone to the Hospital Wing and asked for one
that Madam Pomfrey already had in storage, but she knew from Lavender's
simpering that being allowed one came at the price of a pap smear and having to
reveal whomever you were intimate with for the sake of him being checked over
as well. Apparently underage sex could result in magical depletion and while
the files were kept private, any student who'd been canoodling and needed one
of the potions had to reveal the identity of their accomplice.
Hermione got the feeling that it would be a very bad thing indeed for her to go
to Madam Pomfrey for one. She could just imagine the woman's face if she said
she'd shagged Professor Snape. Yeah, that would go down well. Rolling her eyes
to herself, Hermione resolved to do it the hard way and brew it herself. Of
course, the brewing might have to wait until after her detention. She shook her
head to herself, furious that he'd given her detention just because he was
mentally berating himself for having shagged a student.
She tried her best to clear her mind on the way back into the classroom,
knowing the man would be listening to her thoughts, trying to make sure she
wasn't entertaining notions of another round with him. The last thing she
needed was to bring more of his foul mood down on herself because he was
furious that he'd fucked her.
When she entered the classroom, Hermione walked purposefully to Snape and
waited for him to turn to her, since he was in the process of breathing down
Parvati's neck about the consistency of her Liquid Luck even though they'd
barely begun. His eyes were cold when they snapped over to clash with hers and
Hermione fought the urge she had to step backward in fear. She also fought the
urge to close her eyes when it occurred to her that she'd been less fearful of
him in full Death Eater garb than she was right then in his teaching robes.
She knew he heard the thought because he narrowed his eyes hatefully. Hermione
held out the Acromantula Venom silently, praying he wouldn't address her
wayward thoughts.
"Did you ward the cupboard?" he asked, his voice silky.
Hermione shivered involuntarily even as she nodded. He narrowed his eyes,
undoubtedly planning to check the storeroom himself just as soon as he didn't
need to micromanage inept potioneers attempting one of the trickiest potions in
the world. Hermione made to turn away, intent on getting on with her own
brewing of the complicated potion but before she could take more than one step
his large, cold hand closed around her wrist and pulled her to a stop.
Hermione closed her eyes, her mind jumping to last night when he'd grabbed her
before she could touch his Death Eater mask, standing there at his desk
practically naked.
"Sir?" she asked, turning back toward him and trying desperately not to
tremble. She tried to squash down the inappropriate memories that surfaced.
He held his hand out expectantly.
Hermione frowned at his palm before looking back at his eyes – so impossibly
dark and alluring – and letting him see her confusion. She made to hand him the
jar of Silver Wings, but he raised a single eyebrow in silent challenge and
Hermione curled in on herself.
He knew.
Of course, he knew. He'd probably been using Legilimency on her the entire time
she'd been gone from the room. Gulping, Hermione's cheeks flushed crimson
before she glanced around surreptitiously, not wanting anyone to see what she'd
tried to steal. He snapped his fingers once, silently demanding she get a move
on and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. No one was looking at them.
Everyone was too absorbed in their own potion to worry about what she was
doing.
Sticking her hand into her pocket, Hermione fished out the ergot phial and
slipped it into his waiting hand, purposely letting her fingers brush his as
she did so. He darted a glance at the phial, confirming what it was, before
closing his fist around it and depositing it into his own pocket. He glared at
her and Hermione got the feeling that when she stayed behind to arrange her
detentions with him, she would be in even more trouble for trying to pilfer
more ingredients that didn't belong to her.
He released her wrist as suddenly as he'd grabbed it, dropping it like he'd
been scalded, and Hermione stumbled back a step, paling a little in fear when
he curled his lip at her hatefully. Scampering away from him, Hermione returned
to her work station, where Harry or Ron had been kind enough to set up her
cauldron and her brewing station so she'd be able to dive right into brewing.
"Are you alright?" Harry muttered to her, obviously too concerned about her to
worry about her having hit him with a Silence charm earlier to protect him from
further drawing Snape's rage.
"I'm fine," Hermione nodded, despite the way her hands were shaking.
She didn't dare look at Snape again, and her mind was immediately consumed by
the focus needed for the potion they were working on, so she avoided thinking
about what they'd done almost the entire period.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus prowled through the room breathing down the necks of his students as
they flailed helplessly, their attempts to brew Felix Felicius positively
pitiful. He prowled behind Potter's cauldron and narrowed his eyes when he
noticed the boy was doing well, for once. When he passed Weasley's cauldron he
glared down his nose, watching the redhead cringe, obviously knowing that
though his potion should by now be as clear as fresh water, the milky
consistency was not acceptable. He had already fudged his first attempt and had
to vanish it, so he would be forced to drink whatever he'd cooked up.
Severus was looking forward to watching the bad luck that would befall the boy
for the hours following this class. Stalking silently, he crept up behind Miss
Granger next, burning with the urge to find fault with her potion. He knew he
could make her nervous if he stood directly behind her and Severus couldn't
resist. It wasn't unusual. He often did this to her during lessons, both
Potions and Defence, because it was the best way to unsettle her. She always
second-guessed herself when he was standing there, judging her.
He narrowed his eyes as he peered over her shoulder and into her cauldron,
ignoring the faintest vanilla scent that seemed to cling to her hair. She
hadn't second-guessed herself last night under his scrutiny when she'd had her
mouth wrapped around his cock, he recalled. Maybe she was able to differentiate
between him as a teacher and a Death Eater.
He almost smirked when he saw that while her potion was almost perfect, it was
just the faintest bit off.
"You will not enjoy drinking this potion at the end of the lesson, Miss
Granger," he informed her, speaking almost directly into her ear. She almost
jumped out of her skin, apparently too focused to have realised he was behind
her.
"What's wrong with it, sir?" she asked in a low voice.
Severus smirked.
"You used one too many drops of Murtlap essence," he informed her. "It
shouldn't have an odour, but your does."
She drew a deep breath in through her nose and Severus cursed himself for
standing so close when doing so caused her back to brush against his chest. He
loathed the way his body remembered the warmth of her skin even through that
faint contact.
"I can't smell anything," she protested.
"And that is why you will not enjoy your afternoon," he sneered. "Remain after
class to arrange your detention."
He stalked away before he had to endure any more of her wretched scent,
scowling down his nose at Parkinson's potion when the girl stepped back,
letting him see what she'd created. He narrowed his eyes on the potion and the
pug-nosed witch paled, realising instantly that she'd made an error.
"Too much hellebore, Miss Parkinson," he informed her when she peered into the
cauldron, obviously trying to figure out what she'd done wrong.
He prowled throughout the rest of the classroom, eyeing Abbott's pitiful
attempt at the brew and shaking his head in disgust. She began to cry once
more, and Severus smirked just a little bit. He'd always prided himself on his
ability to make others cry without needing to say a word.
When the lesson had five minutes remaining, Severus called them all to a stop.
"Rather than collecting a sample of your potion for examination today, you will
simply demonstrate the effects by ingesting what you've created," he informed
them.
"Professor Snape?" Granger interrupted when everyone was groaning and obviously
terrified. "Begging you pardon, sir, but isn't it against school rules to force
us to ingest these potions? Especially when you've indicated we'll be having a
test in this afternoon's Defence lesson? The use of Liquid Luck is against
wizarding law for any magical test, sporting game, or other competitive
activity."
Everyone went dead silent, holding their breath as they waited for him to
crucify the witch for her audacity.
"Do you imagine anyone in this room has actually managed to brew anything that
would even passingly be considered Liquid Luck, Miss Granger?"
"Perhaps," she retorted, narrowing her eyes. "But should we all have failed –
some more spectacularly than others – the effects of the spoiled potion would
incur the opposite of Luck. It would be just as immoral and unsporting to force
Bad Luck potions on all of us prior to a test, sir. Moreover, the extent of the
bad luck incurred by some would endanger their lives. I'm sure you wouldn't
actually seek to endanger the lives of those under your care, Professor Snape."
Severus curled his lip, his anger bubbling. He levelled her his coldest, most
hateful look – the one he usually only reserved for Wormtail – and she stared
back defiantly, certain she was right.
"I doubt you've even an inkling of what I'd seek to do to those under my care,
Miss Granger," he replied coldly and everyone was silent. She narrowed her eyes
on him, getting the message loud and clear that she'd might've thought he'd
never have fucked a student under his care, too, but last night he'd fucked
her.
She opened her mouth like she might argue further but Severus narrowed his on
her.
"Unless you wish to be subjected to the most pitiful attempt at today's potion
– courtesy of Miss Abbott – rather than your own potion, you will hold your
tongue on any further protests, Miss Granger," he warned her silkily and her
mouth snapped shut.
Severus smirked cruelly.
"All of you will ingest a single mouthful of your potions – which ought to wear
off right as lunch ends, thereby negating the effects before this afternoon's
Defence lesson. As Miss Granger has showed her eagerness, she will go first,"
he instructed.
She narrowed her eyes on him hatefully and Severus caught the flash of the
thought in her mind that said she ought to have let him bleed out last night,
rather than healing him. He stared her down, silently agreeing. She huffed
angrily before dipping a phial into the potion she'd brewed and lifting it to
her lips. Her friends all held their breath and Severus's smirk widened when
the scent she'd claimed she couldn't smell hit her nose just as the first drop
touched her tongue.
She gagged before gritting her teeth when the Slytherin students laughed
uncharitably. Pinching her nose, she gulped down the rest looking like she was
swallowing acid – which she might as well have been. When it was all gone she
dropped the phial and wiped her mouth, clamping her hand over it and trying
desperately to keep her breakfast down.
"Miss Abbott, you next," Severus smirked. The sobbing girl's hands were
trembling as she did as instructed without protest. The minute she'd finished
the potion she fell off her stool and managed to tip her cauldron over,
splashing her peers, coating her things, and spilling a good deal of it on
herself.
More laughter sounded from his Slytherins.
"Miss Parkinson, you next," Severus said.
Pansy was frowning as she did as she'd been told. She coughed as she finished
the mouthful, before blinking at him and grinning stupidly like she was drunk.
Severus shook his head and continued watching the students all ingest their
potions. Many of them would endure terrible bad luck all through lunch and he
hadn't been in higher spirits in a good long while. When the final student – Mr
Weasley – had drunk his potion, and turned a terrible shade of green before
vomiting into his cauldron, Severus dismissed them.
Potter and Granger both waited while the others all tripped and fell and cursed
over splitting book bags as they tried to hurry from his presence. Potter was
glaring at him defiantly and Granger was still trying to keep from gagging,
having fished a water bottle from her bag that she was gargling, trying to
rinse the foul taste from her mouth.
"Potter, you will serve your detentions with Mr Filch. Report to him nightly at
eight o'clock for further instructions," Severus hissed at the wretched boy who
looked so much like his past enemy.
The brat curled his lip like he might argue, but Granger pinched him before he
could. Potter nodded with a sharp jerk and Severus glared at him, waiting for
him to leave. He didn't. He glared back defiantly, refusing to leave his friend
alone.
"If you don't get out of this room in the next thirty seconds, Mr Potter, you
will spend the entire year in detention. Is that clear?" he snarled at the boy.
The defiant little shit continued to glare and refused to move until Granger
pinched him.
"Go, Harry," she muttered. "I'll be fine. Don't make this worse for both of
us."
"You have no proof that it was Hermione's fault Peeves got into the storeroom,"
Potter said, always forgetting his manners and refusing to call him 'sir'.
Severus curled his lip, intent on ripping the boy a new one but Granger beat
him to it.
"Yes, he does, Harry," she said. "I didn't get the Bruise Salve finished last
night because Professor Snape caught me in here. He knows I was raiding the
storeroom. Just go, would you? Please?"
Severus narrowed his eyes on the girl, loathing the way his stomach flipped
with fear that she might mention just what he'd done when he'd caught her in
the classroom. She didn't, and Potter glanced at her before frowning and
nodding.
"We'll wait for you outside," he said.
"Go to lunch," Hermione told him. "Ron needs something in his stomach after
drinking his potion. I'll be fine."
Potter looked doubtful, shooting another hateful look at Severus before picking
up his bag and leaving the room without another word. Severus glared down his
nose at Miss Granger when the girl met his gaze. She was distinctly less
cheerful now, looking weary, rather than chipper.
She didn't dare speak, he noticed, and Severus held her gaze for a long time,
loathing himself for the warring disgust and desire he felt as he looked at
her.
"What time should I report for my detentions, Professor?" she asked quietly
when he didn't speak, unable to find his tongue when every time he tried, he
could taste her once again.
"You imagine you will be reporting directly to me for your detentions?" he
asked, raising ne eyebrow.
"You want me to re-stock the storeroom, don't you?" she asked, never looking
away from his eyes. "I'm responsible for their destruction, after all, and
they do need to be replenished. Unless you'd prefer me doing something else,
sir?"
Severus narrowed his eyes before diving into her mind, not trusting the
conniving little bitch not to be offering herself to him as a means of serving
detention. She didn't resist the invasion, letting him see she only meant that
she could help with marking for his classes, or do whatever other, menial task
he could think up to punish her.
"Are you aware that use of this ingredient in an uncontrolled environment could
kill you, Miss Granger?" he demanded quietly, fishing the phial of Ergot
Essence from his pocket – the one she'd tried to steal.
"Yes, sir," she nodded, looking wary now.
"What might possess you to steal more ingredients from my stores, Miss Granger?
Especially such a dangerous one?" he asked, goading her, suddenly needing to
hear her address what they'd done.
She stared at him, her cinnamon eyes dancing over his face, obviously searching
for the trap in his words – trying to find the reason for his question.
"I think you know, sir," she said quietly. "I... I'm not on contraceptives
right now… I wasn't on them last night."
Severus narrowed his eyes on her.
"How old are you, Miss Granger?" he demanded.
She frowned.
"I turned seventeen in September, sir," she said softly.
Severus breathed out a slow sigh of relief that though she was still a student,
at least she wasn't a minor.
"Why aren't you on contraceptives?" he demanded, frowning.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the
classroom door, as though fearing they might be overheard.
"The door is warded against eavesdropping," he said.
"Oh. Good. Um… they don't… uh… that is to say… when I tried them in the past
they… er…."
"Spit it out!" Severus hissed at her.
Her cheeks flushed crimson and Severus marvelled at the thought that she could
suck his cock without blushing, but discussing the effect of a contraceptive on
her body was apparently impossible.
"The contraceptive potions I tried interfered with my menstrual cycle," she
informed him bitterly, cheeks glowing. "The first one I tried made me too
nauseous to eat anything and while that was spectacular for my waistline,
people started asking questions when I couldn't stomach anything. The second
one I tried made it so that I spent nineteen days of every month bleeding,
rather than just five – which made me anaemic – and so I stopped taking that
one. The third made me put on so much weight in such a short period of time
that Harry asked me if I'd been attacked by a Blast Ended Skrewt because I
looked like I'd been stung all over. After that, I wasn't having sex anymore
anyway, so I stopped worrying about taking anything."
"And you thought this would be wise?" he held up the phial.
"The potion I had in mind for it doesn't have any negative effects on my system
because it's usually a once-off dosage," she admitted, lifting her eyes to his
once more and Severus realised she'd intended to make it for the sake of
purging her body of whatever he might've planted in her.
He narrowed his eyes on her, having assumed that she would simply be on
contraceptives and so not having given the risk of pregnancy a thought.
"Brewing that is extremely tricky, Miss Granger," he informed her.
"Yeah, well I can hardly go to Madam Pomfrey for one that's already brewed, can
I? I'd rather not be forced to endure a pap smear from the witch and I don't
imagine it would be in anyone's best interests for me to be forced to reveal
who I'd been intimate with."
Severus blanched at the very idea.
"You didn't think to simply ask me for one?" he raised his eyebrows. "I stock
the Hospital Wing."
"When might I have asked you, sir?" she hissed, her eyes flashing. "When you
were chiding me about breaches of the dress code last night? Or maybe this
morning at breakfast when you were making seventh-year boys cry because you're
in such a foul mood? Maybe I should've asked in class just now, when Harry and
Ron, and all the rest of the students could listen in and wonder if I was
asking you because I fucked you?"
Severus blinked, shocked by her foul language and the venom in her voice. He'd
never heard her swear, least of all at a teacher and he'd have smirked over it
if not for the fury glittering in her eyes.
"You knew you would be seeing me after class to arrange your detention. You
could have asked now, rather than stealing the ingredients yourself," he
pointed out.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she snapped. "Was I supposed to assume it would be alright to
acknowledge that you and I had sex when you've been a right bloody dragon
spewing fire over everyone in sight all morning because you're furious with
yourself? I was just supposed to know you'd want me to mention it when you're
throwing a tantrum over the entire thing?"
"Did you imagine attempting the potion yourself, and likely failing, would be
preferable?" he sneered. "Your fear of my current temper is but a pittance in
comparison to my mood should you fall pregnant as a result of your cowardice,
Miss Granger."
"My cowardice?" she hissed, leaping to her feet and glaring at him. "You're the
one throwing a tantrum, Professor. There is nothing cowardly about preferring
to get myself out of trouble than risking the ridicule I'd face at asking for
your help. You are spiteful, and mean, and a downright bastard, and you can
take all the house points you want over it, because it's the bloody truth! If
I'd come to you this morning like some snivelling first year confused over her
first period, you'd have been positively brutal in your attack on me over what
I don't doubt you'd deem to be my stupidity for not being on contraceptives
before knowingly engaging in sexual activity. You'd have snarled like a mongrel
dog trying to warn me away lest the rest of the world figure out you fucked me,
and you'd have pounced like a tiger for the throat when I admitted the 'fault'
of not being on contraceptives to begin with. You'd have refused to listen to
reason and you'd have all but told me to fuck off, likely imagining me some
stupid and clingy little swot all hung up over one little fuck. Wanting to
avoid all that when there is a viable alternative isn't cowardice, sir. It's
just common sense."
She stomped her foot of emphasis and Severus glared at her, wondering when
she'd come to know him well enough to figure out how he'd likely have reacted
had she tried to speak with him this morning in any capacity other than that of
teacher and student. He narrowed his eyes, recalling that it had been her to
say she didn't want to go last night, when he'd tried to send her on her way
before he could fuck her.
Merlin's nads, she wasn't interested in him, was she?
"You are out of line, Miss Granger," he warned her sternly, refusing to dock
points despite being called a bastard because it was what she expected and
probably what she wanted.
"Oh, am I?" she snapped. "How awful. It's out of line to back-talk you or call
you out on being a git, but it's not out of line to suck your cock, is that
it?"
Severus curled his lip and lunged for her before he could think better of it.
She stilled instantly when his hand closed threateningly around her throat, his
eyes glittering with hatred as he glared down his nose at her. He had to give
her credit; when she was riled up, she was utterly fearless. She didn't back
down or look away, glaring at him from mere inches away, toe to toe with him
despite the hand wrapped around her throat. Severus wondered if she trusted him
so very much as to doubt he would hurt her, or if she was simply foolish and
reckless enough to push him to violence, just the same.
"Enough!" he hissed at her, lowering his voice to a silken purr that he usually
reserved only for sweet-talking the Dark Lord into seeing things his way.
She shivered in his hold and Severus hated that he poignantly recalled the way
she'd quivered and shuddered under his tongue, too.
"Last night was a foolish mistake," he informed her coolly. "One that will
never be repeated, and one that we will not discuss in any further detail
with anyone. Is that clear?"
She narrowed her eyes on him before nodding jerkily.
"You will drink this," he fished a phial of abortifacient potion from his
pocket. "You will not continue to break into my storerooms to help yourself to
whatever you want, and you will report to my office this evening at eight
o'clock to begin replenishing the stores of ingredients that were destroyed
today as a result of your carelessness. Was the storeroom down the hall
similarly destroyed?"
"No, sir," she answered.
"You didn't raid that one, then?" he asked. "Or you were simply less distracted
whilst in that one?"
She tried to look away then and Severus narrowed his eyes, penetrating her mind
once more. He recoiled, dropping his hold on her throat and stepping back when
he encountered what appeared to be an extremely erotic daydream of being
ravished on the stone floor of the storeroom. She looked down at her feet, her
cheeks crimson and Severus's brow furrowed in confusion, shocked by the
daydream and confused by her reaction.
She… did she often entertain fantasies that starred him?
"You would do well to learn how to shield your mind, Miss Granger," he said
sternly.
"You would do well to refrain from invading the minds of those around you
without invitation or permission, sir," she retorted.
Severus narrowed his eyes on her. "You would also do well to remember to speak
to me like I am still your teacher, Miss Granger," he warned. "Last night's
actions do not negate the fact that I am a teacher and you are a student."
"Yes, sir," she whispered, lowering her head deferentially once more, as though
she'd never been anything but a dutiful student who hadn't shagged her teacher
or called him a bastard.
Furious with her all over again, Severus clenched one of his fists.
"Get out of my sight," he snapped coldly, unable to stand the sight of her any
longer.
She nodded, refusing to lift her eyes to his before she turned and hurried back
to her desk to collect her things. Severus watched her go, hating the way his
mind replayed snippets of last night's encounter, now interspersed with
memories of her daydream.
"Miss Granger," he called quietly before she could hurry out the door once
she'd slung her bag over her shoulder.
"Yes, sir?" she stopped, not turning, apparently too mortified to meet his
gaze.
"You were in the store-room before I returned last night…" he said leadingly,
realising with a jolt that she'd forgotten to ward it properly after
daydreaming about him in there before he'd returned and fucked her senseless on
his desk.
"Yes, sir," she agreed, turning and frowning at him, obviously not yet
understanding his point.
"And it was you who refused to leave when I suggested it," he pointed out, his
eyes scanning her face. "Do you often fantasize about me doing inappropriate
things to you, Miss Granger? Or was last night an exception?"
She went red again, her eyes widening in shock at his blunt question.
"I…You… we agreed that there would be no further discussion of last night,
sir," she stammered, obviously unwilling to admit anything further that might
incriminate her.
Severus might've laughed at her pitiful attempts to hide the truth from him if
he weren't so surprised. She darted a look at him, obviously wanting to leave
but knowing better than to flee without being dismissed.
"Very well," he bit out, narrowing his eyes on her once more. She turned and
fled the room before he could call her back again, running full-tilt down the
hall with her bag swinging and her skirt flying. Severus shook his head as he
watched her go, making a mental note that during her detention that evening, it
might be prudent to perform a diagnostic charm over her to ensure she wasn't
under the effect of some Dark Curse or Potion. No teenage witch in her right
mind who didn't have ulterior motives would ever fantasize about him, so he
could only conclude that the girl must not be in her right mind.
He scowled as he turned away to clear up the room before he could head to
lunch, discovering that in her haste, she'd forgotten the abortifacient potion
he'd tried to give her.
***** Chapter Four *****
                                 Chapter Four
===============================================================================
Hermione kept her head down for the rest of the day. In Snape's afternoon
Defence class, she didn't raise her hand even once and she refused to make eye
contact with the man. She couldn't bear the thought of having him know she'd
been fantasising about him. Worse, she'd discussed her menstrual cycle with him
as though he were her boyfriend and the thought returned colour to her cheeks
often as the afternoon wore on.
Her cheerfulness from the morning was well and truly spent by the time she
dragged herself down to the dungeons at eight o'clock for her detention and
she'd managed to think herself into a right foul mood. Harry walked with her
most of the way, and Hermione nodded along as he raged about Snape's unfairness
and how he hoped he'd get out of some of his detentions by attending his
meetings with Dumbledore. Already Professor McGonagall had vetoed Snape's
insistence that Harry would miss Quidditch, citing the fact that he was
captain, and that one small outburst did not warrant such harsh punishment.
She'd also tried to rescue Hermione from Snape's foul mood by suggesting
Hermione could serve her detentions with her, but Snape had refused to budge so
much when he could exact free labour out of her to restock the storeroom.
"I'll see you later, Hermione," Harry told her. "Don't let him get to you,
yeah?"
Hermione nodded.
"Try not to throttle Filch, alright?" she asked, smiling at him.
"No promises." Harry winked before he wandered off in the direction of Filch's
office while Hermione continued toward the dungeons alone.
She was blushing again by the time she reached the door to Professor Snape's
classroom, mortified to face him after all she'd said and a little terrified of
how he might treat her. She couldn't forget the feel of his hand wrapped around
her throat that morning and she couldn't forget that she'd called him a git and
a bastard, and that she'd blurted embarrassing facts about her body to him. She
was surprised he hadn't given her a million detentions for that, if she was
being completely honest.
Pausing outside the classroom door, Hermione took a slow, deep breath in to
steel her nerves before knocking. No answer sounded, but the door slowly
creaked open and Hermione peered into the room, spying Professor Snape seated
at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him and his hated red ink
unstopped upon the desk. Hermione's lips twitched just a little bit at the idea
that he was doing marking on a day like today and she could only hope he wasn't
grading their tests from Defence because he would not be being charitable.
"Miss Granger," he drawled without looking up as he viciously slashed his quill
across someone's essay.
"Good evening, Professor Snape," Hermione said politely, entering the room
cautiously.
"Put down your things and get to work in the storeroom, Miss Granger," he
commanded, still not looking at her.
"Yes, sir," she murmured, doing as she was told without complaint and really
hoping he wasn't going to make her play with beetle's eyes or something equally
disgusting.
Before she could enter the storeroom to see what awaited her, he looked up.
"Miss Granger?" he said quietly, and Hermione turned to look at him just as she
was about to pass his desk.
"Yes, sir?" she asked.
She flinched when he held out a phial in her direction and Hermione blinked,
realising it was the Morning-After potion he'd tried to give her earlier,
before their disagreement and her subsequent mortification. Hermione reached
for it, being very careful to keep from touching him as she took the thin phial
from his hand.
"Thank you, sir," she whispered, unstoppering it and drinking it down
immediately.
He watched her, his eyes glittering in the low torchlight, and Hermione
shuddered at the dreadful flavour, but she didn't complain. He held his hand
out to take the phial back when she was finished with it and Hermione handed it
over, meeting his gaze briefly before looking at her feet once more. When he
tucked the phial back into a pocket and turned his attention back to his
marking, Hermione supposed that she'd been dismissed, and she continued into
the storeroom without another word.
She sighed when she saw what awaited her. Three large crates of assorted
ingredients from dead flobberworms to beetles that needed their eyes removed
and a batch of what looked like petrified fairies that needed their wings
removed before they needed to be stored in jars. Closing her eyes, and pulling
her dragon hide gloves from her back pocket, Hermione got to work without
complaint.
                          ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus was in the middle of marking Finnegan's Defence quiz when the searing
pain shot up his arm and he hissed, gripping his Dark Mark tightly and gritting
his teeth against the agony.
Oh, that didn't bode well.
"Professor?" Granger asked, hurrying out of the storeroom. Severus spun toward
her in his chair, still gripping his forearm tightly, having almost forgotten
she was still in there, sorting all the ingredients he'd given her.
Her eyes danced over his posture and the way his jaw was set against the
intense pain running like a fiery breath up and down his arm, throbbing and
aching in a way it hadn't since the Dark Lord's initial return. Severus met the
young witch's gaze stoically, dragging his hand from his arm and pulling his
Death Eater persona from the depths of his psyche, refusing to feel pain or to
register any hint of humanity.
"Return to your dormitory, Granger," he bit out as he rose fluidly to his feet.
He didn't look back to make sure she followed his instructions, flicking his
wand to summon his mask and his robe from his quarters, donning them as he
hurried from the room and down the corridor to the secret entrance Dumbledore
had had installed to allow his ease of access to come and go as he needed. He
was halfway across the grounds before Draco caught up with him, the young blond
wizard jogging to keep up.
Severus barely spared the boy a glance, his arm throbbing too much to risk
dilly-dallying. Draco was clutching his own arm in pain and when they reached
the gates and slipped through them, Severus held out his wrist. His godson took
it without a word, and Severus glanced at him only long enough to let the boy
see how serious tonight's meeting must be if they were enduring such a painful
summons – especially when there had been a meeting just the night before.
Draco paled considerably but nodded, accepting his fate and closing his eyes
before Severus Disapparated them both with a sharp crack. They landed on the
steps of Malfoy Manor and Draco reached for the doorknob to his family home
with shaking hands. Severus gritted his teeth, more determined than ever to
make the Dark Lord pay for terrifying a boy so much that he feared entering his
own home.
The Manor was silent as they crossed the entrance hall, Draco leading the way
through the house and up to the dining room where the Dark Lord tended to host
his meetings. Severus gritted his teeth, loathing the dread that pooled in his
stomach and wondering what might've happened to have so angered the Dark Lord.
He knew of nothing the Order had been planning that would set him off and that,
Severus supposed, didn't bode well for him.
When they reached the dining room, Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and
Rabastan were already seated. Others were beginning to arrive, their footsteps
echoing loudly in the halls as they hurried to their master's side. Severus
slipped into the seat beside Lucius, watching Draco take the empty seat beside
his mother. She reached for the boy's hand under the table, giving it a
squeeze. Lucius met his gaze with eyes that glittered with fear and
resignation, and Severus's stomach turned over.
"My friendssss," the Dark Lord said when every seat was filled, all of them
awaiting for their Lord's address. "I have sssome distresssssing newsss."
Severus scanned the table before closing his eyes in horror, suddenly realising
what the Dark Lord planned to impart.
"It ssseems that our friend, Wormtail, hasss ssseen the Light," the Dark Lord
said, and hisses sounded all around the table. "Yesss, I wass asss
dissssssgussssted assss you."
A flick of his wand brought the body of the late Peter Pettigrew crashing to
the table from above, where he'd been levitating, Disillusioned.
Draco let out an undignified squeak of horror and Rowle recoiled so violently
from the table that he toppled his chair to the floor with a crash.
No one laughed.
The reactions might've been funny if not for the dire news to learn they had
been betrayed.
"Yesssss, jussst asss he once turned on his Order friendssss, Wormtail has
proven himssself a sssssnivelling rat," the Dark Lord sneered as Nagini
slithered up his arm from the floor and began winding her way along the table
toward the body. He'd been mutilated, Severus noted, feeling a terrible sense
of misjustice that the death he'd been promised had been taken from him. He'd
been bargaining with the Dark Lord since his return to be allowed the chance to
slaughter Wormtail for the no-good rat he was, claiming that he would one day
show his yellow belly and try to turn on them, too.
"Sssseverussss, you are angry?" the Dark Lord said, catching his loathsome
expression.
"Enraged, my Lord," Severus agreed, tight lipped in his fury. "I foretold his
cowardice, my Lord, and I was promised the right of slaughter his just as soon
as he was no longer of use to you."
"Yessss, you have been robbed of his murder, dear Severussss," the Dark Lord
purred, obviously pleased to know Severus had foreseen the betrayal, but not
known when it would come, or that it would happen now. "It sseeems he went
snivelling to the Order, begging forgiveness. He miscalculated the phase of the
moon and as you can see, his former friend, the werewolf, was only too willing
to make him pay for his cowardice."
Severus bared his teeth, his fists clenching in his fury to know that Lupin had
been afforded the chance to exact his revenge, while Severus had been robbed of
it. Blast it all, the wretch could at least have given him the chance to help!
Not that there was much left to decimate after Remus had finished. The body was
tattered, bloody, and broken. He was unrecognisable but for his wretched
hairstyle and his pudgy shape. His face was gone, lycanthropic claws having
scratched and slashed at the flesh until nothing of his identity remained.
"I was not made aware of his attempt to re-join the Order, my Lord," Severus
offered, frowning at he noted the depth of the gouges. "Are you certain this
was Lupin and not… another werewolf with whom Wormtial was current enemies?"
Greyback snarled at the insinuation.
"If it'd been me, Snape," Greyback sneered, baring bloody fangs at him from
further down the table, "There wouldn't have been a body to find."
Severus curled his lip in return, knowing Greyback's penchant for feasting on
the corpses of those he slayed.
"This was Lupin," Dolohov said, his Russian accent thick as he examined the
body with a morbid curiosity that unsettled even Severus. "No one else would
know about this."
He lifted Wormtail's leg, twisting the already-broken joint to show Severus the
sole of Wormtail's foot. Or what was left. The flesh had been peeled off to the
bone, but Severus knew that once upon a time, the soles of the former-
Marauder's feet had borne a tattoo in the shape of two paw-prints, a hoof-
print, and a tiny rat claw print. The Animagus forms of the Marauders
memorialised upon the soles of their feet. Lupin, Black, and Potter had all
borne them too, though Remus was the last remaining member, now.
Draco covered his mouth, dry-heaving at the grisly sight and Lucius reached for
him surreptitiously.
"I suspect that Dumbledore is unaware of Wormtail's attempt to switch sides,"
the Dark Lord said, the hiss in his voice subsiding as some of his anger faded.
"Lupin acted alone – and left the body somewhere for us to find – but
unfortunately, in his attempts to make amends, Wormtial did something rather
displeasing."
Severus wasn't the only one holding his breath and awaiting the Dark Lord's
announcement.
"The Selwyn family, you will notice, are not present this evening," the Dark
Lord pointed out quietly.
"He killed them all?" Rabastan grunted. "Single-handedly?"
"Selwyn Hall is… in need of redecoration," the Dark Lord said delicately.
"There were no survivors."
"None at all?" Lucius asked, clearly shocked. "Didn't Elizabeth Selwyn recently
give birth to triplets?"
"She did," the Dark Lord inclined his head and Severus marvelled that among
wretches such as those who filled out the ranks of his brethren – men and women
who'd slain hundreds of women and children and tired old men – there could be
so much outrage at the thought of such pure blood being spilled.
Were he not already dead, Wormtail would surely have been submitted to a fate
worse than any but that which Severus had daydreamed up for him. Worse than the
end Lupin had given him. Narcissa gave a delicate sob in her seat, mourning the
death of the Selwyn family.
"In any case, it is done," the Dark Lord sighed. "I thought it prudent to
ensure you were all aware. Such disloyalty is not tolerated in my ranks, and
such loss is to be mourned. There will be Funeral Games for the Selwyns in the
upcoming days. Be advised that your presence, and those of your families, is
mandatory."
With a lazy flick of his wrist, the Dark Lord dismissed them just as Nagini
reached Wormtail's body and slithered herself into position, her jaw unhinging
and stretching wide as she began devouring the corpse whole.
No one lingered, having witnessed the sight of the giant snake ingesting human
corpses before and knowing better than to watch lest they wanted to lose their
dinner. Lucius and Narcissa excused themselves once the brethren had left,
ushering Draco out with them and undoubtedly intending to keep the boy home for
the evening rather than allowing him to return to Hogwarts alongside Severus.
Severus knew that the Dark Lord required private discussion with him even as
Rabastan, Bella, and Rodolphus quietly discussed the Selwyn's demise – planning
funeral arrangements of the deceased. Rising to his feet, Severus approached
the Dark Lord, who tipped his head toward a door that led out into the gardens,
indicating that they would walk and talk.
"My Lord," he bowed his head deferentially.
"What did Dumbledore make of your return last night, Severus?" the Dark Lord
asked him quietly as they strolled out onto the patio that led to Narcissa's
glorious gardens beyond.
"He was displeased, my Lord," Severus admitted, recalling Albus's annoyance at
the idea that he'd been punished. Not because he much cared that Severus had
endured a little pain, but because he didn't like the thought of his spy
displeasing the master that Dumbledore believed him to be hoodwinking.
"Worried your position in my ranks might be tenuous?" the Dark Lord confirmed.
"Indeed, my Lord," Severus said.
"And you?" he asked. "Do you worry for your position, Severus?"
"No, my Lord," Severus admitted softly. "My esteem in your eyes may fluctuate,
but my loyalty will always remain, and even if I were forced into the position
Wormtail has so rudely vacated, I would remain by your side, awaiting the
chance to redeem myself in your eyes once more."
The Dark Lord hummed softly in approval, stopping him with a touch to his wrist
before reaching to card an almost affectionate hand through Severus's hair. The
touch ought to have unsettled him – as it unsettled so many – and Severus knew
that there was something fundamentally wrong with him that he leaned into the
caress like an adoring mutt revelling in the petting from his master.
"It is your loyalty I so adore," the Dark Lord told him quietly. "And it is
your loyalty I seek to reward, Severus. Of all among my followers, only you
have the courage to inform me of my errors when I am in danger of making them.
The others paid little mind to Wormtail, but you foresaw his betrayal of us and
sought to warn me. You return again and again to the school you hate, wiggling
yourself under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore for the sake of keeping me
informed of his pitiful attempts to thwart me. You subject yourself to all
those wretched children and refrain from murdering them for the sake of
maintaining the position I have put you in."
Severus bowed his head at the acknowledgement.
"I was wrong to punish you yesterday," the Dark Lord said quietly, surprising
Severus so much that he lifted his head and stared at the Dark Lord, his eyes
wide in confusion.
"No, my Lord. I failed you. I should've been more aware of others collecting
titbits to return to you. It was my carelessness that allowed yesterday's
blunder."
"It was your loyalty to me that perhaps resulted in Dumbledore's refusal to
share the information with you until now, while others were able to gain it in
other fields where I've strategically placed them. I cannot fault you
for his distrust, Severus. It would surely be beyond my realm of capabilities
to so effectively hoodwink the wretched muggle-lover, as you do. Salazar knows
he always saw right through me when I was a mere student."
Severus blinked, never having heard the Dark Lord mention his schooling before
now.
"It occurs to me, Severus," he went on quietly. "That despite my attempts,
there is nothing that can be done to cease the ravages of time. Your potions
and concoctions have worked wonders, but the loss of the Selwyns calls into
sharp relief something I'd begun to notice."
"My Lord?" Severus asked, frowning.
"Look at me, Severus. What do you see?" the Dark Lord asked, and Severus eyed
him critically, knowing the man would accept nothing but the truth from him.
"You are… terrifying, my Lord," Severus admitted.
"I am old," the Dark Lord sighed. "I am old and bald, and my nose is gone. This
body was to be but a temporary solution to return me to physical form after my
brief demise. Do you recall me when I was young, before my visit to Godric's
Hollow and Potter's interference with my plans?"
Severus nodded slowly.
"You were glorious, my Lord," he said quietly. "Handsome. Strong. Intimidating
in your beauty, rather than terrible in your disfigurement."
The Dark Lord bowed his head in silent agreement, taking no offence to the
baldly spoken words, and Severus frowned.
"I could attempt further potions to restore you, my Lord," he offered. "But I
fear the inclusion of Nagini's genetics in the potion that created your body is
what has caused the baldness and the nose. I'd offer you some of my own, but I
fear that would look worse."
The Dark Lord tittered a laugh that sounded like rattling bones – a sound that
set Severus's teeth on edge.
"Ah, Severus, you do amuse me so. No, I haven't asked you out here to discuss
further restorative potions, or to rob you of your nose, my friend."
Severus smiled in return, waiting patiently for the Dark Lord to make his
point.
"Selwyn Hall now stands empty, Severus," the Dark Lord told him quietly. "With
the entire family dead, and your mother's people being a branch off their tree
you are technically the legal heir to the Hall."
Severus blinked in surprise, shocked to hear it. His mother's bloodline was,
indeed, descended from the Selwyns. His grandmother had been a Selwyn, before
marrying into the Prince family and birthing Eileen.
"Surely the Lestranges or the Bulstrodes have a stronger claim, my Lord," he
protested.
"They do not. And in any case, they've all their own impressive dwellings,
while you reside in that hovel your muggle father abused you in all your life,
my friend. It is time you considered relocation."
Severus frowned.
"You wish for me to take up their seat, my Lord? To what end?"
The Dark Lord smiled.
"No end, Severus. Call it a reward for your service and your loyalty. And an
apology for my failure to fulfil my promise that you could murder Wormtail
yourself. Your honesty is refreshing among so many silver-tongued wretches, no?
Think of it as a grand apology for my mistaken punishment of you yesterday. I
wish to keep your council more firmly, and you must be raised in the eyes of
the brethren in accordance with my esteem. Will you accept Lordship of Selwyn
Hall?"
Severus blinked again, suspicious, but doubting it would be wise to refuse the
Dark Lord's generous offer – especially if he truly was the heir to the Hall.
"Do I have to keep calling it Selwyn Hall?" he asked begrudgingly.
The Dark Lord laughed. "For a time. It would be in poor taste to see them so
quickly falling to little more than memory and a note the history books."
"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," Severus bowed his head, his mind spinning
with confusion, trying to unravel whatever plot the Dark Lord must surely be
weaving if he wanted to install him in Selwyn Hall.
"Think nothing of it, my friend. Now come, I'm sure you will be needing to
return to Dumbledore and your duties as my spy in his midst. Over the holidays
you will be able to relocate to Selwyn Hall – it will give me the chance to
have it cleaned up after Wormtail's butchery while you fulfil your role as my
faithful spy."
Severus bowed his head once more.
"Thank you, my Lord," he murmured, lowering himself to one knee and kissing the
Dark Lord's knuckles deferentially.
"No, thank you, Severus," The Dark Lord said quietly, smiling in a way that
made Severus nervous.
Recognising that he'd been dismissed, Severus rose and bowed to the Dark Lord
once more before winding his way back through the Manor. Anger simmered in his
blood that he'd been robbed of murdering Pettigrew and when he was on the front
steps, he twisted sharply, Disapparating with a sharp crack. He landed in the
woods that led to a falling down cabin. Narrowing his eyes on the cottage,
Severus stormed up to the door, the wards rippling over him and granting him
entrance. He pounded on the door furiously when he reached it, listening the
sound of a growl from inside the cottage. When Lupin opened the door, he looked
like hell. His hair was dishevelled, he'd obviously been drinking, and from the
nude and bloodied state of his body, he'd obviously only recently regained
human form following the full moon.
"Severus?" Lupin blinked at him.
Severus greeted him with a punch to the jaw.
"That's for slipping your leash and committing murder," he snarled as Remus
reeled back before baring his teeth in warning. Severus struck him again,
blackening his eye.
"That's for killing that fucking bastard without letting me help!" He went on,
blocking the wild haymaker Remus threw in return.
"And this," he hissed, grabbing the now furious werewolf and wrestling him into
the closest thing to a hug he could offer while the man was struggling and
snarling. "This is for finally killing that cowardly fucking rat."
Remus flailed in his hold, obviously uncomfortable being hugged whilst drunk
and naked after being beaten up.
"Could you get off, Snape?" Remus rumbled after patting him awkwardly on the
back before struggling free once more.
Severus released him and stood at arm's length, his eyes dancing over Lupin's
face.
Remus looked away, obviously ashamed of what he'd done. He didn't look like he
regretted taking Wormtail's life, he just looked like he didn't feel any better
for it.
"It didn't help," Lupin admitted, swigging from a half-drunk bottle of whiskey
and turning away toward the kitchen, heedless of his nudity.
"It rarely does," Severus admitted, following him.
"They found the body, then?" Remus confirmed.
"Nagini is gorging on the remains as we speak," Severus nodded.
"You punched me," Lupin said reproachfully, rubbing his jaw as though it hurt.
"You killed Wormtail without me," Severus retorted, unable to completely let go
of his fury at being robbed the chance to slowly peel that rat's skin off to
find out if he really was yellow and rotten inside.
"You'd have been in my way," Remus muttered. " And I was hardly in any state to
make a Floo call."
Severus curled his lip. "Does Dumbledore know?"
Remus glanced at him whilst tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips and pulling
on it in long gulps. That, really, was all the answer Severus needed. No,
Dumbledore didn't know his pet werewolf had murdered anyone – a former friend,
turned bitter enemy – and Severus wasn't so sure it was a good idea to tell
him.
"Do you know why Wormtail would have murdered the Selwyn family as a means of
earning your forgiveness?" Severus asked, frowning when it occurred to him that
while Remus might've lost control and slaughtered the rat, he would never
usually hold with murder. The wolf was many things, but bloodthirsty on non-
moon days wasn't one of them. He wouldn't approve the slaughter of an entire
family.
"He killed them all?" Remus asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand
and seeming not to notice that he was still naked and still covered in
Wormtail's blood.
"According to the Dark Lord," Severus shrugged, accepting the bottle from the
werewolf when he offered it to him, now glassy-eyed. Severus wondered how many
bottles he'd had to ingest to look even this faintest bit drunk.
"Makes no sense," Remus muttered. "Wouldn't forgive him for anything.
Especially not for committing more murder. I'd look closer to home for their
killers, Snape. Who stands to benefit the most from killing off all the
Selwyns?"
Severus frowned.
"Me," he admitted. "The Dark Lord informed me that Selwyn Hall would fall to me
upon their deaths. But I didn't kill them."
Remus frowned, obviously more than a little bit tipsy and still affected by his
wolf and the moon. He wasn't entirely with it – Severus doubted he even knew he
was naked.
"You?" Remus frowned. "You're a halfblood with a muggle father. How do you
inherit Selwyn Hall?"
"My grandmother was a Selwyn before she married a Prince and had my mother,"
Severus waved his fingers dismissively. "You are aware that you're naked, yes?"
Remus wrinkled his brow, glancing down at himself in surprise.
"Shit," he grunted, scratching at some of the dried blood crusted to his bare
chest.
"Get in the shower, Lupin," Severus sighed. "And keep your mouth shut about
Wormtail. I'll pass on to Dumbledore that he's been killed after murdering the
Selwyn family – though it smells more like the Dark Lord might've murdered them
for nefarious purpose and conveniently pinned it on Wormtail as a traitor. What
was he doing here?"
Remus shook his head slowly.
"Spying," he said. "Caught him while he was transformed and hiding in the
garden. He knew the way here, of course, and he wandered inside the wards.
Maybe he thought it was moral support even though I'd rather rip my fangs out
one at a time than ever look at him again. Maybe he wanted to find out how
weakened I was on the Wolfsbane, or he was seeking to finish the job of killing
the rest of us Marauders off, like he killed of James and Lily, and then
Sirius."
"Bellatrix kills Sirius."
"Bellatrix fired a Stunning spell and he fell through the Veil. But he'd never
have been at the Ministry, and Bellatrix would never have escaped if Voldemort
hadn't returned. And Voldemort could never have so successfully returned if not
for Peter. Therefore, Peter killed Sirius too, inadvertently, and he fucking
deserved what he got."
"He deserved far worse," Severus disagreed.
Remus grunted. "Should've known that if anyone in the world wouldn't judge me
for what I did, it'd be you."
"You should've known I wanted to help torture him into madness before peeling
the flesh from his bones. I saw what you did to his feet. Nice touch."
"He didn't fucking deserve to wear our marks," Remus muttered darkly, lifting
the bottle to his lips once more and obviously struggling with the
unconscionable act of murder, even though Wormtail had more than deserved it.
"You'd taken life before him," Severus reminded him.
"Never like that," Remus whispered, his eyes haunted. "He begged me, before the
end. I took my time destroying him and everything he represented in my
memories. I peeled the tattoos from his flesh a layer at a time. I clawed his
face off until he was unrecognisable. I've never…. Not like that."
Severus nodded in silent understanding. He knew what it was to slowly torture
someone to death, and he knew how it felt so much different from the quick and
usually painless end amid a fiery duel. It was heady and terrible, and it
stained the soul beyond repair.
"Take a shower, Lupin. Don't loiter wearing his blood like it's the spoils of
victory."
"This is his?" Remus asked, frowning. "Thought it was mine."
Severus frowned at him and Remus shrugged turning slightly and showing him a
terrible collection of gashes across his back where it looked like he'd been
whipped. He recognised the marks as Pettigrew's handiwork. The wretch had
always enjoyed watching others squirm. Remus twisted the other way, showing off
some nasty claw marks and a bite where he'd obviously attacked himself. All of
his wounds were bloody and looked infected.
Sighing, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, realising it was obviously
going to fall to him to get the werewolf back to human if they were to keep
Dumbledore from knowing he'd murdered Pettigrew. Severus didn't know why, but
he didn't want the old man to know that Remus had killed him. He didn't even
like the fucking wolf, and he was going to protect him. What in Circe's cunt
was wrong with him? First, he'd fucked a student, and now he was helping one of
his teenage tormentors.
Maybe he was going soft in the brain.
Grumbling under his breath, Severus pried the bottle from Lupin's grip and
directed him down the hall to the shower, paying no mind to his nudity. Lupin
complied, leaning against the wall under the spray when the shower ran, letting
the blood wash away. With his wand, Severus cleaned the fool up, healing his
wounds, and when he was done, he shoved the werewolf down the hall and into his
bed.
"Keep your mouth shut about Pettigrew," Severus commanded gruffly.
Remus nodded, his eyes already closing as his exhaustion won out.
"Severus?" he said quietly when Severus was almost out the door and Severus
stopped, peering over his shoulder at his last remaining childhood rival. Lupin
had one eye open – the one Severus had blackened – and his mouth was twisted
into a sad smile.
"I'm sorry I didn't share the kill with you," he said quietly. "I know that
things were always rocky between all of us, but you were as hurt over Lily's
death as Sirius and I were over James's, and over Lily's. I'm sorry I didn't…
reach out to you after their deaths…"
Severus nodded, his jaw set, never one to willingly discuss his pain over
Lily's loss.
"It's done now. There is no one left to blame, but ourselves."
"Yeah," Remus sighed. "I think we'll always blame ourselves. Still, I'm sorry I
couldn't call on you to help flay him alive. And thank you… for wanting to keep
it quiet… I know we're not… friends… and likely never will be, but… if you ever
need anything, Snape… well…"
Severus's lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"If I'm ever in need of an attack dog, I'll howl," Severus sneered.
"A werewolf joke?" Lupin laughed quietly. "Really? Who are you? Sirius?"
Severus huffed, offended, and Remus laughed.
"Eat me, Remus," Severus muttered, stomping for the door.
"Now I know you're channelling Sirius," the werewolf teased.
"Fuck off, Lupin."
"You know, I think I've missed this," Remus laughed as Severus stomped out the
door and began down the hall. "But I mean it. You need anything, you know how
to find me, yeah?"
"If I need anything, I'll seek out someone useful."
Remus was still laughing by the time Severus reached the door. Severus shook
his head, wondering if the werewolf was becoming hysterical before reminding
himself that he didn't care. He disapparated from the front lawn of Remus's
cottage, gritting his teeth at the idea of needing to report to Dumbledore
before he could even think about returning to his chambers to bathe off the
feel of the meeting and to find something or someone to take his fury out on.
Punching Lupin hadn't been nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped, and Severus
muttered darkly under his breath about the no-good, soft-hearted werewolf who'd
managed to turn a brutal murder into some sort of twisted bonding experience
between old enemies.
"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him, his brow furrowing when Severus barged
into his office without invitation. "You've been busy this evening."
"Wormtail is dead," Severus grunted, throwing himself down in his chair.
"By whose hand?" Dumbledore frowned.
Severus was in no mood to talk, so he simply leaned forward, his eyes wide,
inviting the other wizard to view the memories for himself. Dumbledore made a
face at him, never liking having to enter his mind because of Severus's natural
resistance, and because Severus's outlook on the world was rarely a pleasant
one.
For several long minutes, Albus rummaged through his head, examining his
discussion with the Dark Lord with special attentiveness. By the time he
withdrew, a terrible ache throbbed behind his eyes that did nothing for
Severus's already murderous mood.
"He wishes to make you Lord of Selwyn Hall," Albus murmured. "To what end?"
Severus shrugged his shoulders, beyond the ability to think clearly.
"I will ponder it. Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, dismissing him with a
wave of his hand. Severus didn't bother with his usual snark over being used as
little more than a bulletin board for information to the old man, rising to his
feet and stalking off in the directions of the dungeons once more.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Hermione's worry increased with every passing minute as she watched the clock
slowly counting the hours while Professor Snape was gone. She knew she ought to
have returned to her dormitory like he'd told her to. She knew she ought to
have long been abed, by now. Yet, she wasn't. She'd been pacing a hole in the
dungeon classroom floor, having finished all the ingredient preparation that
he'd left for her, and having finished the pile of marking he'd left on his
desk when he'd rushed off to the meeting. She'd been going out of her mind and
desperate for a distraction, and she didn't much fancy his reaction to see
she'd done his marking for him – going so far as to call a few people
dunderheads when she'd read some of their work and mimicking his style of
handwriting and harsh marking.
She knew he would likely be in a foul mood when he returned, and that he might
take it out on her, but after last night and seeing how badly injured he'd
been, she didn't – couldn't – leave until she knew he'd returned and knew he
was safe. He would be beyond furious with her, she was sure, but she had to
know that he wasn't going to crawl home and bleed out in this freezing cold
dungeon all alone, too stubborn, and too buried in his Occlumency shields to
heal himself or seek assistance. Unable to stand the silence of the cold
dungeons, but unwilling to draw attention to herself lest some patrolling
teacher or Mr Filch happened by to find her out of bed, after hours, Hermione
resorted to holing up in the storeroom.
She'd finished with the crates of ingredients he'd given her to sort through –
much to her disgust when she'd been pulling the eyes out of beetles and needing
to preserve their separate parts for use in potion making. She'd pulled the
wings off petrified fairies and she'd dissected flobberworms. And now all that
was left to do was to sort through everything else in the storeroom,
alphabetising it and rearranging everything in a way she knewshe'd be in
trouble for, but unable to help herself both as a lover of order, and as a
nervous wreck right at that moment.
She was muttering to herself as she sorted everything by hand, going so far as
to do a deep clean of the storeroom, both with and without magic to the point
where the shelves were gleaming and had been completely reorganised and
labelled for their specific jars. She'd begun a list of things that needed to
be ordered and restocked, taking note of all that had been lost thanks to
Peeves and his mischief, in addition to things that were past their used by
date and had needed to be thrown out. She'd conjured a little floating light to
follow her around, swirling overheard in the otherwise dark storeroom and she
was so focused on her task that she didn't hear the almost-silent footfalls
when someone invaded the space behind her.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus Snape stopped in his tracks as he was crossing the dungeon classroom
that led into his private office, and then deeper into his chambers. Light
flickered in the storeroom and he frowned, wondering if Miss Granger had
forgotten to douse the torches before returning to bed like he'd instructed her
before hurrying off to the meeting. He walked quietly as he approached,
wondering if perhaps some plucky student was in there trying to raid the store
again – since Miss Granger had surely learned her lesson by now.
He was in no mood to have some snot-nosed brat raiding his stores again. His
head was pounding thanks to Dumbledore's scrutiny and his blood was still
boiling over the death of Wormtail at anyone's hand but his own. His mind was a
whir of suspicion and paranoia, trying to unravel the reason the Dark Lord
might want to install him as Lord of Selwyn Hall badly enough to have
slaughtered the entire family – his own supporters – just to bring about such a
reality. He didn't trust that there wasn't an ulterior motive, and the more he
thought about it, the less sense it made that Wormtail would've murdered them
all to attempt to betray the Dark Lord.
When he reached the doorway to the storeroom, Severus's brow furrowed first in
annoyance, and then suspicion. Standing with her back to him amid the cleanest
and most neatly organised storeroom he'd ever seen was the curly-haired menace
of a witch that he'd spent most of the day agonising over having fucked. She
was muttering to herself, wiping down shelves, wielding a labelling quill and
juggling jars of potion ingredients while a curious little light swirled
overhead.
Miss Granger.
He curled his lip, drawing in a slow breath intent on exploding at her about
what she thought she was still doing in there, once again out of bed after
hours, but he bit his tongue when he noticed the way her fingers twitched
restlessly.
"Honestly, who keeps pickled toad hearts for fifteen years?" she was muttering
to herself. "How is anyone supposed to brew a passable potion with such dated
ingredients?"
Severus narrowed his eyes, watching as she swept up several jars that had been
sitting on the back of the shelf collecting dust since the beginning of his
teaching career. He could tell they were, indeed, as old as she claimed because
the handwriting on the jar label was not his own spiky script, but the messy
scrawl of Horace Slughorn. For a long moment as he stood in the doorway
watching the oblivious and distracted witch, Severus thought about taking his
fury with the evening's events out on her. How dare she still be loitering in
the storeroom when he'd given her express instructions to return to her
dormitory before he'd hurried off to his meeting?
He spent a further few minutes, when she suddenly bent over to dump the
outdated ingredients into a big crate of similarly dated things, recalling with
sudden clarity the wretchedly erotic daydream he'd come across in her mind that
morning. Severus closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath before he
levelled a glare down the front of his person when his cock stirred in his
trousers, suddenly recalling the warmth and delicious welcome she'd offered him
when he'd returned from last night's meeting. He might've been disgusted with
himself in the early hours of the morning – his morality and his position as
her teacher making for the perfect lecturer against such actions. But tonight,
he wasn't her teacher. Tonight, he was a ruthless, cold-hearted, angry Death
Eater who'd been thwarted out of a murder he'd longed to commit and who'd been
manipulated into a position he wasn't thrilled about.
Tonight, he didn't give a hoot that she was only seventeen, or that it was
immoral to fuck a student under his tutelage. Tonight, he was very much a man
with carnal needs and she was very much a woman who had already gloriously seen
to those needs once. Tonight, he was sinfully aware that she'd entertained
thoughts of doing so even before he'd come home covered in blood and half out
of his mind, his humanity deeply buried.
Slipping his wand from his pocket, Severus traced it through the air behind the
distracted witch, checking for Dark curses and spells that might've influenced
her thoughts or manipulated her into interest in him. He frowned when the only
thing his diagnostic charms picked up on was high levels of worry and anxiety.
Shaking his head slowly, his Death Eater subconscious only too willing to draw
the conclusion that she must still be here and fussing over the state of his
storeroom whilst anxiously awaiting his return, Severus peeled his mask from
his face and banished it to his quarters.
"Come on, Professor," the girl suddenly whispered. Lowering her wand and
resting her forehead against her hands on one of the shelves. "What's taking so
long? Where are you?"
He blinked in surprise, watching the girl for another long moment in silence,
confirming that she was still blissfully unaware of his presence. She truly was
waiting up for him to return, he realised, and Severus shook his head at so
novel an idea.
"What do you think you're doing?" He hissed waspishly, irrationally annoyed
with the witch for thinking she could wait up for him. How dare she assume he
needed to be waited on like a parent might await some hapless teenager out on a
sweaty first date?
She squealed, jumping in shock and dropping one of the dated jars of toad
hearts as she spun on him with her wand drawn. Severus glared at her, his eyes
narrowed hatefully.
"Professor! You're back," she said stupidly, and Severus curled his lip at her
relieved smile. Before he could berate her, she suddenly swatted his chest.
"Don't do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack! What's the big idea,
sneaking up on me? You made me drop a jar!"
"You'll be lucky if I don't make you clean it up by hand," he snapped,
narrowing his eyes on her for the assumed familiarity of swatting him like he
was her friend. He might be entertaining less than savoury thoughts and
planning to do truly despicable things the little swot, but he still deserved
more respect and more fear than she was practicing.
She blinked at him for a moment, obviously realising that she was very much in
the presence of a Death Eater, one who wasn't a nice man at the best of times,
let alone when he'd had such a wretched night.
"Are you injured, sir?" she asked quietly, pocketing her wand and reaching a
tentative hand in his direction, obviously concerned for him. Severus's head
throbbed. He was in no mood for manners or bullshit excuses or platitudes.
He wanted to fight and he wanted to fuck, and he was thinking that Miss Granger
might be the perfect candidate to do both.
"Do you imagine I've survived so long as a spy by regularly allowing myself to
be savaged by werewolves?" he challenged.
She shook her head, her eyes scanning over him in the dimly lit room, obviously
searching for any sign of blood or injury, just the same.
"Why are you still here?" he asked, though he knew the answer, wanting to hear
her say it, wondering if she'd admit it.
"Erm… I was distracted by the cleaning when I finished with my crates," she
lied and Severus curled his lip.
She blushed pink, obviously realising he knew it was a lie.
"Fine. Maybe I was worried about you after the state you returned in last
night," she muttered.
"You imagine me incapable of surviving one little Death Eater meeting alongside
my brethren?" he asked.
"I know you'd have bled out last night before being human enough to heal your
own wounds," she retorted, narrowing her eyes, refusing to back down. Severus
hated that he kind of liked that. He couldn't stand simpering, pathetic witches
who bowed their heads demurely and meekly accepted belittlement or abuse just
for the sake of avoiding a fight.
"And you thought you'd play the heroine?" he sneered. "I don't recall needing
much saving when you were riding my cock, Granger."
Her eyes widened at his crudeness and her cheeks brightened once more. Severus
narrowed his eyes on her.
"I don't imagine you'd have had the blood to spare that would allow anyone to
ride it ever again if I hadn't healed you," she replied and Severus took a step
toward her, looming over her and trapping her against the shelves of the
storeroom.
His head was still pounding and his knuckles were bloody from beating Lupin,
but his cock was rapidly hardening, too.
"You shouldn't be here," he told her.
"Perhaps not," she agreed. "But I am, just the same."
"You should go," he asserted.
She pressed her lips together for a long moment before tipping her head up just
far enough to boldly meet his gaze.
"I don't want to," she admitted and Severus's cock twitched.
"You're not safe here," he tried to warn her. "If you don't leave…"
He trailed off, unable to voice all the things he wanted to do to her right in
that moment when he wasn't certain she should be hearing such things.
"I'm not scared of you, Severus," she said quietly, using his given name rather
than his title and making him twitch ever so slightly. He wasn't sure he liked
the way she could so easily tell apart who he was when the Death Eater inside
him rose to the surface as opposed to who he was as a teacher.
"You should be," he admitted darkly. "The things I could do to you, Granger,
would boggle your innocent little mind."
"Perhaps," she admitted, nodding slowly even as she slid her feet closer across
the uneven storeroom floor.
"Why are you here, Granger?" he asked, and he caught the way her expression
shifted ever so slightly when he left off the 'Miss' that he'd usually include
when addressing her as her teacher.
He wasn't her teacher tonight.
"I think you know," she replied, unafraid of the wicked gleam in his eyes or
the darkness that blackened his soul.
If he wasn't mistaken, he might think that she preferred the Death Eater
persona over who he was as her teacher. That much seemed clear when she
defiantly met his gaze, refusing to say she'd been worried about him, but
certainly not afraid of him or what he might do to her. She didn't look scared
of the lust he knew was glittering in his eyes and she didn't back down when he
took another step closer to her, so close now that if she breathed too deeply,
they would be touching. He could smell the faintest aroma of vanilla in her
hair and Severus's cock throbbed with the urge he had to bury his hands in the
wild tangle of curls whilst burying his cock inside that hot, slick well
between her legs. He was sure that in the morning, he might need to examine in
further detail the fact that she obviously feared him just a little as her
teacher, but wasn't afraid of him now.
He was sure that in the morning, he might need to re-examine his priorities and
figure out why in Circe's cunt he was sexually attracted to the witch, too, but
right then he was a little more interested in taking his foul mood out on her
in the most carnal of ways.
"Did you imagine that if you loitered here long enough, I'd turn that erotic
little daydream of yours into a reality?" he taunted, smirking wickedly at her.
Her cheeks brightened at the mention of what he'd seen in her head and for just
a moment he thought she might look away, or try to hurry off to bed after all.
He wasn't expecting it when she narrowed her eyes on him slightly.
"Will you?" she asked, her voice turning husky as well. He caught the way her
nipples tightened inside her shirt at the thought and he knew that if he hadn't
already been destined for hell, he surely would be now.
She didn't back down when he slid his feet closer, moving until his front
brushed against hers and towering over her. She was almost a foot shorter than
him, he noticed, but she wasn't afraid. When she lifted her hands, and rested
them flat against his chest, Severus tensed at the touch, knowing he really
shouldn't. He should send her off to bed after docking house points for her
flouting of school rules.
He definitely shouldn't be thinking about hard-fucking her against the shelves
of the storeroom until all the jars toppled to the floor and she was screaming
his name.
"Do you often indulge in fantasies of being ravished by me, Granger?" he
drawled, smirking just a little.
She narrowed her eyes on him.
"What if I do?" she challenged, and Severus's grin grew positively wicked even
as he reached out a hand and tangled it in her wild curls, planning to do truly
despicable things to her.
"Then by all means, share them."
***** Chapter Five *****
                                 Chapter Five
===============================================================================
Hermione tipped her head back, her heart racing inside her chest and her hands
fisting the front of his Death Eater robes. She knew it was wrong. She knew she
should be ashamed of the wanton little moan that escaped her as her Potions
professor kissed her neck roughly, nipping her and tormenting her in the most
sinful way.
She knew the right thing to do would be to push him away and return to her
dormitory, perhaps to masturbate in private until the throbbing ache between
her legs subsided. She knew she should leave, but she also knew she wasn't
going to. She didn't know what kind of night he'd had, but she knew he was
angry. Angry, and horny, if the steel rod prodding her stomach was anything to
go by. Closing her eyes and quivering at the sensation as the faintest traces
of stubble rasped against her skin, Hermione began unbuttoning the many buttons
on his robes, moaning softly when his hands slid over her waist and down to
settle tightly on her arse.
Merlin, she wanted him to shag her right there in the storeroom. Who was she
kidding? She wanted him to shag her anywhere he liked, just as long as he
shagged her until she couldn't see straight. He pressed her back against the
shelves and Hermione whimpered at the feel of his long, lean form trapping her
petite one.
He didn't speak as he tormented her flesh, and he didn't protest as she slowly
stripped him until his robes hung open over his bare chest. She yelped in
surprise when he tightened his grip on her arse, lifting her with ease. She
wrapped her legs around his hips, tangling her fingers in his long, ink-black
hair while he nosed at her chest. Her eyes crossed when he bit her nipple
through her shirt and Hermione sighed when she felt him moving, peeling her
from the shelves and carrying her out of the storeroom. She was too delirious
with the giddy rush of pleasure to ask where he was taking her, but when her
back hit something soft that smelled like him, she had her answer.
He lifted off her enough to rip her shirt open and Hermione hissed in delight
when he fixed her a carnal look that dampened her knickers.
"Scared yet?" he asked, peeling her out of her shirt and her bra.
Hermione shook her head emphatically, and his lips twitched on a wicked grin.
She could see the recklessness boiling in his eyes when he unbuttoned her jeans
and Hermione lifted, letting him yank them down until she was laid out,
completely bare upon his bed inside his chambers. She was much too distracted
by him to notice the décor, despite having fantasised too many times to count
what it might be like in his private rooms.
He was methodical in his seduction, trailing a burning line of kisses over her
bare chest and latching onto her right nipple in such a way that Hermione cried
out, arching into the touch. The smooth of his cool fingers across her stomach
and then lower, sluicing between her legs to find her core wet and needy, made
her moan. Her lips tingled with the urge to kiss him – a touch he seemed intent
on disallowing. He hadn't kissed her last night, either and Hermione wondered
if perhaps he didn't like snogging. She forgot the thought before it could
fully form when he suckled at her breast, drawing on it hard enough to make it
ache even as he dipped two fingers greedily inside her.
"Oh, gods," she moaned breathlessly, her eyes closed against the sensations
intent on unravelling her.
Her whole body thrummed with need as he slowly beckoned with those two
dexterous digits deep inside of her and Hermione knotted her hands in his hair,
wanting more. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to taste him again, but she
never wanted him to stop touching her, either. He trailed hot kisses across the
valley between her breasts before engulfing the left one in his hot mouth and
Hermione almost sobbed with need.
His fingers inside her made her tremble, slowly working over than special spot
that she knew would bring her undone. He seemed intent on it, silent in his
seduction and merciless in his torment until Hermione cried out breathlessly,
the tension twisting and coiling tighter and tighter, just waiting to snap
free. For her trouble she earned a wicked chuckle and she hissed when he kissed
across her stomach, tracing circles with the tip of his tongue around her
navel, sliding ever-lower.
She saw stars when he buried his face between her legs, his fingers teasing her
while he suckled at the little bundle of nerves and the top of her slit.
Hermione arched, fisting handfuls of his hair, desperately seeking something to
anchor herself to amid the storm of pleasure he seemed intent on unleashing
upon her.
"Please, Severus," she whispered, her head thrashing from side to side, her
body shuddering, chasing release.
"Did you imagine good manners would save you?" he asked, his voice a silken
purr that made her tremble. When she tried to snap her legs shut, her heart
pounding, her pussy throbbing and her panic rising, he pinned her thighs open
with unforgiving hands, dipping his tongue inside her and slowly devouring her.
His wicked tongue, so skilful at decimating the hopes and dreams and the
patience of others, tormented her without mercy, licking and teasing and
tasting every inch of her until Hermione was sure she might scream from pure
frustration.
"Please!" she begged, lifting her head to stare at him, wild-eyed, as he
feasted upon her.
His obsidian eyes flicked up to meet her gaze and Hermione mewled when she felt
him slip into her mind with ease. He didn't search for anything, he simply
watched, apparently revelling in the sweet chaos he rendered of her usually
organised thoughts. When he latched onto her clit once more, sucking it hard
and giving it a little twist, Hermione broke.
A soft squeal escaped her, and she shuddered violently, stars exploding behind
her eyes. Everything snapped free and she was sure that she'd die a very happy
girl if he decided to murder her right then. He didn't. He licked her through
the intense orgasm and Hermione felt him slide her hands from his hair before
he smoothed his palms over her hips. She wasn't expecting it when he suddenly
pulled back from between her legs, gripped her hips tightly, and flipped her to
her stomach. Before she could figure out what he was trying to do, he hiked her
arse up into the air and shucked himself out of his trousers.
Hermione's breath caught on a sob when he pressed up behind her once more,
sinking himself deep inside of her, filling her up and making her ache with the
thrill of being impaled upon his cock again.
"Oh, god, Severus," she whispered, closing her eyes in sweet surrender. She
listened to the soft sigh he emitted, his hands gripping her hips lightly as he
held there for a moment, letting her acclimatise to the feel of him stretching
her open and filling her up.
She would swear she felt him tremble before he began to move, sliding almost
all the way out of her before rocking back in and filling her up once more.
Hermione wondered if this was what heaven felt like.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus closed his eyes, clenching his jaw against the delicious heat of her
body gripping him so tight and holding him so snugly inside of her. He'd fucked
more witches than he'd ever admit to, but he rather liked fucking this one. She
was nothing special, though her manners were impeccable as she begged him so
sweetly for release. He wondered if it made him twisted to so thoroughly enjoy
watching her squirm.
He slid out of her slowly, almost all the way, before driving back in hard. He
wasn't the type of man interested in being gentle. Not in bed, and not in life.
She huffed under him, pushing back into his thrust so that his pubic bone met
her tailbone with a little jolt and Severus smirked. The brief glimpses inside
her head suggested she wasn't interested in being gentle in bed, either. In her
fantasies she imagined it rough, and Severus was pleased because he planned to
give her rough. His fury over Wormtail's escape of his punishment and his
annoyance with the wolf had combined with his frustration at Dumbledore and the
resulting headache that meeting had birthed.
Snapping his hips, Severus picked up the pace, his grip on her hips tightening
until he was sure she'd have bruises. She whined, pushing back into every
thrust and writhing aboard his cock. He fucked her harder and harder, pushing
deeper, feeling his fury beginning to manifest in his magic and uncaring that
it might explode free.
When she gave a breathless moan and her body clamped around him, Severus
laughed cruelly, hoping she knew that they were nowhere near done. He had every
intention of fucking her into a stupor and he enjoyed her little whine of
surprised frustration as her orgasm tapered away when he continued thrusting.
Her elbows gave out before he was done, and Severus laughed wickedly, letting
her slide forward until she was face-down on his mattress, boneless with
contentment.
"You're killing me," she muttered, though she wore a big Cheshire cat smile.
"Believe me, if I were killing you, Granger, it wouldn't feel like this," he
murmured into her ear before peppering her neck, shoulders, and back with
little nips and kisses that made her hum with delight.
She made a half-hearted attempt to continue pushing back into his thrusts and
Severus laughed until she fixed him a wicked little smirk over her shoulder
before clenching around him tightly. He narrowed his eyes on her, jolting into
her a little harder and feeling the heat beginning to fizz up from his toes.
She did it again, wickedly amused and grinning like the cat that got the canary
and Severus knew she wanted to bring him undone. The little bitch.
"You'll have to do better than that," he chided, grinding into her, slowly his
pace and opting for deep, grinding, aching sort of thrusts that made her arch.
He ground the tip of his cock against that special spot inside her, making her
crazy, and his lips twitched when she clenched fistfuls of the sheets, pushing
back once more, writhing under him.
He nipped her shoulder hard enough to leave a welt and she whined. When he slid
one hand under her and pinched her nipple, she yelped and tightened around him
again, rhythmically clenching now, likely deriving as much pleasure from the
sensation as he did, and Severus gritted his teeth, trying to cling to his
self-control but feeling the boiling scald of orgasm building and fizzing,
readying to burst free. She rolled her hips a little, testing him, and he knew
she wanted to make him lose control. He loathed her for it, and was grateful
for it, too. So much of his life was about remaining rigidly in control, and it
was nice to think about losing control without repercussion.
Though he supposed it counted as a loss of self-control to have ever fucked her
in the first place given that she was his student and a know-it-all little swot
with bushy hair and too much arrogance and, the tightest cunt he'd ever fucked.
Closing his eyes when the sensations got the best of him and trying vainly to
hold off just a moment or two longer, Severus slid his hand under her, blindly
seeking out that little pleasure button at the top of her sex and pinching it.
Her little breathless scream almost drowned out the faintest groan of
completion she tore from his chest as the scalding heat rushed down his spine,
boiling in his blood and fizzing up from his toes to fill her completely. She
was panting and boneless when he could think clearly enough to realise he
should get off her, though she seemed unfazed by his weight as he rested where
he'd collapsed against her. Leaning his forehead against the curve of her
shoulder, Severus tried to catch his breath, trying to clear his thoughts and
to push away the wretched fizz of guilt when he noted her smaller stature
thanks to her youth.
Torn between satiation and self-disgust, Severus sighed softly before slowly
withdrawing from her and rolling away, onto his back on the mattress beside
her. He frowned at the ceiling above his bed, realising slowly that in his
mindless quest for pleasure, he'd brought the little swot into his chambers and
fucked her in his bed like she was a lover, rather than one of his students. He
turned his head to glance at her, expecting her to already be scrambling for
her clothes and the door, before recalling how she'd rested against him in his
lap last night, uncaring about her potion boiling over and forgotten.
When he looked at her, he found her eyes were closed, her riotous curls all in
a mess and her body sprawled across the covers of his bed. She was asleep.
Severus snorted, unsure if he should take it as a compliment that he'd so
effectively worn out the young witch, or if he should be offended that she had
so little respect for his fearsome presence that she could sleep soundly in his
company. He shook his head at the witch, glancing down the length of his body
and noting his naked state before allowing his eyes to trail over her bared
form, too.
She was lithe and petite, her skin a warm peaches and cream shade with the
occasional freckle spattered here and there. She had the spryness of youth,
Severus noticed, and he loathed the way his spent cock stirred again, the
longer he looked. He should send her away. He should wake her and give her a
tongue lashing for being such a wanton little swot, and send her scampering
back to her bed in Gryffindor Tower before his teacherly sensibilities could
resurface and before any of her ridiculous friends could come looking for her.
The last thing he needed was the complication of Potter sticking his nose where
it wasn't wanted concerning some of Severus's extracurricular activities.
The brat was already suspicious of Draco and though Dumbledore was well aware
of Draco's status as a marked Death Eater, the rest of the Order would likely
be less than thrilled. Potter would turn murderous, Severus was sure. He
shuddered to think what the wretch might do if he ever learned that one of his
best friends was fucking his least favourite teacher. He shuddered to think
what everyone might do if they ever learned he'd fucked the little mudblood.
The Dark Lord would surely have a field day. His fellow Death Eaters would
laugh and scoff behind their hands that she was a poor substitution for Lily
and accuse him of cradle-robbing and Merlin only knew what else.
Minerva would throttle him, he was sure. To have dared lay a finger on one of
her favourite little cubs would buy him a one-way ticket to the deepest circles
of hell. The woman was surely fiercer and more ruthless than even the Dark Lord
and she would make him pay for what he'd done. Severus loathed that there was a
part of him – the part that had seen him joining the Death Eaters to begin with
– that wanted to revel in the chaos and pain that revealing this little lapse
in judgment would rend.
As he watched the curly-haired menace sleep peacefully, Severus's mouth twisted
with the thrill of knowing how destroyed she would be if her friends ever
learned she'd willing come to his bed. Her standing as such a bright student
with exemplary grades would be forever tarnished. Her honour would be
besmirched, blackened by the darkness he'd cloaked himself in since his youth.
He wondered if her fragile little heart would be shattered to learn she meant
nothing to him. Less than nothing. She was nothing more than an outlet for the
poison he willingly ingested every time he did Dumbledore's bidding. A warm
body to sink into when the chill of his Occlumency grew too dangerous. A toy to
play with and manipulate as he liked.
She meant nothing to him. No one meant anything to him. Not Dumbledore. Not the
Dark Lord. Not Draco, despite being his godson. Not Lucius and Narcissa,
despite being two of his closest living friends. Not Lupin, no matter the
secrets he would keep for the wolf. Not Potter, whose eyes so tormented him
every time Severus looked in them. Not even the memory of Lily, his first and
perhaps his only true friend. Certainly not his own well-being.
Severus wondered if the little witch dozing beside him would be so intrigued by
the idea of riding his cock when she learned that he was beyond the ability to
feel anything but raging anger and the pleasurable thrills born of sex,
torture, and smug satisfaction. He hated that the little twist in his gut made
him want to find out. He longed to see the glitter of hurt and betrayal in her
eyes. He longed to watch tears well in those chocolate pools only to spill over
and trickle down her pale cheeks. He knew he was fucked up and he knew he was a
danger to others.
He knew it when he slowly rolled to his side, facing the witch before carefully
smoothing the palm of his hand over her lower back. He knew it when he wanted
to wake her and ravish her again, for the simple thrill of seeking his own
release and for the sake of drawing her deeper so that her shatter would be all
the more dramatic when he pushed her from the ledge of security into the cold
and harsh pit of reality.
She stirred at his touch, grizzling just a little, and Severus tipped his head
to one side, watching her with the curiousness of a sociopath, intrigued by her
reactions. She was so expressive in her emotions, wearing her heart on her
sleeve and letting every thought and emotion flit across her face in true
Gryffindor fashion, even in sleep. When he traced the tips of his fingers over
her lower back and then lower, dancing them across her pert little arse, she
blinked sleepily, her eyes unfocused, her expression muzzy, before her gaze
sharpened and fixed on his face.
He liked the way her breath caught in surprise to find him so close to her and
to find herself so vulnerable in his clutches.
"Professor?" she asked very softly, and Severus lips twitched before he slowly
shook his head. She blinked, her brow furrowing as she traced her eyes over his
morbidly curious, yet lustful expression.
"Oh," she said, and Severus knew he had her ensnared when a slow, sinful smile
slipped across her face.
He couldn't fight the urge to dip into her mind, and she put up no resistance
to the intrusion, letting him see into her thoughts where memories of the
wicked things they'd already done flirted with her fantasies and her
curiosities. He was surprised to find that she was far more interested in the
darkness and the more seductive realms of magic than he'd have guessed. A slow,
dangerous grin spread across his face, feeling very much like a cat playing
with a naïve little mouse. It had always amused him that the symbol of
Gryffindor was a lion when those belonging to that house had always been the
mice that Slytherins like him enjoyed playing with.
And Miss Granger was surely a delectable little mouse. He'd give her that. She
was delectable. Under the frumpy school robes she usually wore, and buried
beneath an over-extended book bag that she slumped into the weight of, she was
lithe and alluring in a way he rather liked. Small enough to break in his
hands, if he thought to break her physically, rather than just decimating her
mentally. She was delicate, he noted. Delicate, but not afraid to play rough.
When she leaned toward him, her eyes fixed on his lips and obviously unafraid
of the feral gleam in his eyes that glinted of her oncoming demise, Severus
turned his head. She kissed his cheek, missing his mouth and seeming surprised.
He smirked, letting her trail her lips over his cheek and toward the corner of
his mouth. He knew she wanted to snog him.
She tried again as he palmed her arse, pulling her closer until she rested on
her side, her body flush against his. Severus dodged the kiss again, amused by
her attempts even as she smoothed her palm over his chest and down the planes
of his abs. She wasn't shy as she dug between their bodies until she gripped
his cock and Severus closed his eyes at the tight grip, loathing the little
witch just a bit more for the fact that she didn't timidly touch him, or shy
away from being so forward. He should've known it wasn't her nature to be shy,
something she proved when she kissed along the length of his jaw and nipped his
earlobe gently, making his cock twitch even as she looped a leg up over his
hipbone, digging her heel into his thigh and pulling him closer.
She smoothed her hand slowly up and down the length of his cock and Severus
enjoyed the sensation, feeling his blood beginning to stir and the magic inside
his waking up with all the languidness of a cat stretching in the sun. She drew
in a shaky little breath at the first brush of his magic along the length of
hers and he wondered if she could feel the dark and seductive power of it. He
teased one of her nipples, rolling the little pebbled peak between his thumb
and his fingers, liking the way she arched into the touch, pressing herself to
him more firmly. She rocked against him a little, obviously craving his
attention further south as she stroked his cock so surely.
He had no doubt that she'd done that before. Many times. A little niggle of
curiosity made him wonder who else she'd fucked when she was still so young,
just recently seventeen. Abandoning her nipple, Severus slid his fingers over
the dip of her waist and the flare of her hip, tracing his fingertips over the
top of her thighs before burrowing between them. She latched onto the side of
his neck when he drove two fingers deep inside her, her passage slick with
their mingled essences after the last round.
"Mmmmm," she hummed, peppering his neck with little kisses and nips that
tickled more than they annoyed him. She altered her rhythm on his cock to match
the pace he set with his fingers and Severus thoroughly enjoyed tormenting her.
When he rolled to her back, looming over her and settling himself between her
thighs, she looked at him with eyes that glittered with lust. Her magic brushed
his own and he knew it would be a very dangerous thing for him to fuck her
right then. He could deplete her magic if he took her now. Severus's lips
twitched as he aligned himself at her centre before thrusting in hard.
She huffed, arching into him, clamping around him tightly. Her magic fizzed
along the length of his and without meaning to, Severus slipped into her mind
once more.
He took her hard, thrusting deep, his eyes fixed on her as she writhed under
him. He wasn't gentle. Severus wasn't sure he even knew how to be gentle
anymore. If she minded, it didn't show. Her thoughts were a kaleidoscope of
colours and images that blurred together so fast he was almost dizzy with
trying to follow them. Most of them were sexual, flashes of her past
experiences mingled with fantasies she'd never voice and interspersed with
little snippets of him whenever the darkness inside him got the better of him.
The wicked heat reflected back at him inside her thoughts intrigued him and
Severus wondered how she couldn't see the danger she was in merely being in his
presence. He wondered if maybe she did see it, she just wasn't afraid.
He wondered what that said about her as a person. For a breathless, terrible
moment, Severus wondered what it might take to lure her down the same dark path
he trod. There could be no denying that while she often bored him to tears when
he marked her essays with the way she regurgitated information, she was highly
logical and exceedingly clever. The terrible power she could wield if properly
moulded and shown the seductiveness of the Dark arts would surely be glorious
to behold.
She huffed quietly from beneath him and Severus blinked, focusing on her face
as he withdrew from her mind, still fucking her into the mattress. She was
reaching for his face, trying to kiss him and Severus realised he'd been
subconsciously evading each one. She looked at him imploringly, obviously
craving the feel of his mouth on hers.
"I don't," he told her quietly, holding her gaze so she'd see it wasn't
personal or some silly thing he was making up. He simply didn't kiss on the
mouth. His mother had taught him as a boy that there were things one might be
forced to do with one's body, one's mind, one's morality, and even one's
mortality. But doing things with the heart usually began with the lips. She'd
taught him that to kiss was to express the purest and most innocent of loves,
and that kisses on the lips should be reserved only for those one loved.
"Ever?" Hermione asked, frowning as she relaxed back against the pillows rather
than continuing to strain for a kiss she'd never receive.
"Not in twenty-one years," he admitted, and her eyes widened in surprise.
"Oh," she said, and Severus could tell her wanted to ask why.
He didn't offer explanation, picking up his pace and fucking her even harder.
She didn't ask. Maybe she knew better. Maybe she didn't want to know the answer
in case it was something terrible. Maybe she was smarter than he'd given her
credit for.
Rather than asking, she tangled her hands into his hair, closing her eyes and
arching under him. The new angle let him slide impossibly deeper and he watched
her face as she focused on the sensations he was inflicting upon her. She
rocked against him, her ankles locked against the small of his back and her
pert breasts jiggling with the force of every thrust. Severus shook his head,
pushing more of his magic at her and watching her breath come faster. Her magic
crackled along the length of his in return, fizzing and hissing like an out of
control firecracker, without direction as she slowly lost control.
It was clear to him that she'd never experienced sex like this, where her magic
rushed over her partner. She didn't know what to do, how to control it, or
where to direct it for the best results. Supposing that it was as selfish as it
was selfless, Severus closed his eyes, trying to show her how to wield her
magic with intent, rather than simply unleashing it. She opened her eyes when
he used his to delve beneath her skin and make her feel things she'd never
felt.
Her eyes widened, her mouth opening into a breathless 'o', her hands gripping
his shoulders, her nails cutting into him as the sensation pushed the limits of
her magic and her self-control. Severus knew he was wearing a smug expression,
his eyes glittering with feral heat as he manipulated her body to break her
into a million pieces. She tried to push back with her magic then, flailing
mentally, trembling physically, her magic ceasing its simple brush and instead
suddenly piercing his own and Severus hissed at the sensation. It felt like
being impaled on a spike of ice.
He'd never known a sensation like it and he clenched his jaw against it,
shocked that she'd done it, though it seemed accidental. When she shattered, it
was like a million tiny snowflakes filling his soul and blanketing him in the
strange stinging sort of warmth. She gave a soft, breathless cry, her body
milking his, her fingers digging into his back, her legs tight around him,
securing him deep inside her while her magic and his tormented each other.
She pulled him over the edge unexpectedly when a shudder rocked through her as
his magic pulsed around hers, attacking the invasion inside himself for the
intruder it was and shivering at each brush. He'd never have expected that.
"Fucking hell," he hissed, squeezing his eyes closed as he shuddered with
release.
She felt like snowfall, with all the bite of the cold, and all the sweet warmth
one might find huddled by the fire while a blizzard raged. Severus hadn't
expected that. He'd expected her magic to feel like fire – sharp and consuming
and so hot it would melt everything it touched. He'd assumed, based on her wild
curls and the brimming personality that so often had her bouncing in her seat
wanting to answer questions, that she would be a barely contained firestorm. If
he was being completely honest, he'd formed those expectations because of
another clever muggleborn witch he'd known who was all fire and sweet infernos
and wicked intellect.
For a witch that was so passionate as to fight for House Elf rights, and a girl
known to fight back against prejudice, she certainly kept a lot concealed.
Severus blinked, blindsided, his elbows shaking with the urge to give out as
his cock emptied deep inside her. He felt all tangled up in her, her magic
shattered and scattered amongst him like the snow that blanketed the castle.
Little flurries of it played along his psyche and from the way she was still
breathing heavily and clinging to him so tightly, he knew that she was
struggling to comprehend and understand how to tolerate the bits of his magic
that interwoven with hers in return.
Expecting fire and finding ice, he knew she would be in for an interesting few
days until the magic transference between them faded.
"Gods, Severus," she whispered, bewildered. "What did we just do?"
Severus buried his face in her curls, shaking his head, knowing he'd never be
able to explain, even if he tried.
***** Chapter Six *****
                                  Chapter Six
===============================================================================
Hermione tried to slow her breathing, her hands still clutching at Snape's
back, her heart racing inside her chest. She didn't rightly know what they'd
just done, but it felt strange. Strange and exciting and entirely too dangerous
for words. She felt like bits of his magic had delved under her skin, burrowing
in like ticks and making homes for themselves wherever they liked. When he'd
simply been tormenting her with it, it had felt almost like a strange mixture
of being hexed and having him invade her mind.
But this was something else. This felt like a part of him was inside her. And
sweet Circe, he was heady and seductive and utterly enthralling. Hermione had
never felt anything like it in all her life. Whenever he invaded her mind it
felt slightly uncomfortable – almost like there wasn't enough room inside her
head for both of them. When he'd been brushing his magic along the length of
her, it had felt like being petted with electricity – like zinging touches that
felt sinful and delicious and made her yearn for more. But the feeling coursing
through her now was something else, again. It was like his magic had jumped
from inside of him, to fill her up instead and Hermione was sure she might be
swooning because his magic was just so much.
She didn't think she could've described it if she tried. He felt cold and warm
and so sinfully dark that she wanted to recoil as much as she wanted to wrap
herself in his magic until she couldn't breathe. He felt like midnight walks in
the snow. He felt like velvet against soft skin. He felt like the thrill that
raced through her whenever she stood too close to the edge of the Astronomy
Tower – dangerous and terrifying, but so tingly that she wanted to get even
closer. He was breathing heavily as he rested against her, his face buried in
her hair, his forehead pressed to the side of her neck and his soft breath
puffing against her skin, making her tingle.
Hermione traced her fingers over his back, feeling the webs of scaring that
littered his skin, but unable to focus on them and unwilling to ask about them
when it felt like he'd lodged a part of himself inside her that might never
shake free.
"Did we… just…" Hermione began, her mind fuzzy with contentment, so satiated
that she was sure she could drift off right there beneath him.
"Transference," Severus muttered against her neck. "Essentia ceangal."
Hermione blinked, her eyes widening slowly.
"But that's…"
"Rare," Snape finished for her. "Only possible if two magic wielders have the
same core-magic type."
"But your magic feels nothing like mine," she murmured, her fingers swirling
patterns over his skin restlessly.
"You're supposed to be fiery," he muttered. "Ice is… uncommon."
"Isn't earth magic the most common?" She frowned. "Why would you think I'm
supposed to be fiery?"
"No questions, Granger," he grumbled without moving off her, apparently too
spent to tolerate her whirring thoughts. She huffed in surprise when he
suddenly rolled the two of them across the mattress, his arms sliding beneath
her shoulders and twisting her until she was sprawled across his chest.
Before she could ask what he was doing, he reached for the drawers by the bed,
digging around blindly. Hermione sat up slowly, still straddling him and
impaled upon his glorious cock.
"What are you looking for?" she asked, watching him picking up phials of Pain
Relief Potion, Disinfection Potions, Bruise Salve pots, Burn Salve, Dreamless
Sleep potions and an array of other medicinal potions, shoving them aside just
as quickly when he determined with just a glance at the colour and consistency
what they were.
"Had a contraceptive in here somewhere," he said, sounding like even talking
was too much effort. She frowned when he snatched up a pain potion and drank it
quickly before continuing his search.
"Are you in pain?" she asked. "You told me you weren't hurt."
"What did I say about annoying questions, Granger?" he snapped, fishing deeper
into the drawer and finally locating a contraceptive potion. It was another of
the abortifacient potions he'd given her earlier and when he located it he
handed it to her, eyeing her expectantly.
"Thank you," Hermione said politely, accepting it from him and unstoppering it.
As she brought it to her lips, he flicked his wrist in the direction of a
bookshelf to the left of his bed that made up one entire wall and Hermione
almost choked, intrigued as she felt the flare of his magic both from inside
him and the little sparkles of it that had burrowed inside of her.
It tingled in the best way and she watched with appreciation as he summoned a
book from the shelf wandlessly and wordlessly. When she finished her potion, he
took the empty phial from her and handed her a book about core magic.
"You're going to make me research the topic for myself, rather than discussing
it with me?" she asked, amused.
He fixed her one of his droll stares that could make even the smartest students
feel stupid.
"Have I ever encouraged discussion over private research?" he challenged, and
Hermione's lips twitched.
"No, sir," she said, amused.
Hermione tipped her head to one side when he made a face at her, apparently not
liking to be called 'sir' when she was still balanced on his cock. He looked
tired, she noticed. Spent. Lazily content and strangely peaceful following
their torrid encounter. She couldn't hide her smile at the thought that she'd
made him feel marginally better, even if he'd likely feel worse and be even
more foul-tempered about this tomorrow.
He stared back at her in return and Hermione wondered if he was waiting for her
to get off him and be on her way, or if he was expectantly waiting for her to
read the book he'd given to her. Since she couldn't exactly be seen returning
it to him if she took it with her to her dormitory for the night, Hermione
concluded he must be waiting for her to read and so without a word she opened
the book, resting it across his bare chest and scanning the contents for the
part about Meld Magic and Core Fusion.
"What do you think you're doing?" Snape asked, and Hermione flicked her eyes up
to meet his obsidian pair once more.
"Reading," she said, giving him a look to suggest that it was a rather stupid
question.
He curled his lip at her for the disrespect and Hermione bit her lip on a
laugh.
"Are you going to get off me, Miss Granger? Or do you plan to do all your
reading in this manner from now on?" he wanted to know.
Hermione smirked.
"I wouldn't mind reading like this for all future projects, actually. Though
I'm not sure how effective it would be for my concentration," Hermione mused,
and she'd swear his lips twitched in amusement, though he refused to smile.
"Just don't wake me up," he said before closing his eyes without kicking her
out or ordering her off him. He must be tired.
Hermione grinned, unreasonably pleased that he wasn't returning to his much
less pleasant teacherly persona right away like he had last night. Doing her
best to keep from squirming, though she couldn't resist clenching her pelvic
floor just once, Hermione opened the book he'd given her to the correct page.
He cracked one eye open to glare at her, though his lips twitched again, and
Hermione smiled innocently before lowering her gaze to her book. He shook his
head slowly, but he didn't say anything else and Hermione dove into the
information she'd been given.
The transference of magic they'd just managed was rare because it was a
practice that had fallen out of fashion with the invention of wands. Before
wands, back when Magic was wielded wandlessly, witches and wizards had lived
and practiced magic in covens based on their specific type of core magic.
Everyone had a core type – a flavour to their magic that dictated their level
of power and the source they drew their power from. Earth, as she'd expected,
was the most common core type. Most magical beings wielded at least some extent
of earthen core magic. It was what grounded them and what they drew their magic
from. Fire was closely associated with passion. Those with fiery core magic
tended to be hot headed and prone to boiling over. She almost laughed to think
he'd thought her to be fiery, when he was the one always boiling over about
everything.
Water was rare, and Air tended to only be associated with being like the
fairies and the dragons. Wizards rarely had airy core-magic, though as she read
the characteristics of those who did, Hemione wondered if Luna didn't have an
air-core. There were other, rarer types of cores too. Those whose magic had
untapped depths tended to have icy cores and Hermione frowned as she read the
characteristics.
"This doesn't describe me at all," she muttered. "Ice cored wielders are prone
to secrecy and tend to prefer their own company to that of others. I despise my
own company. No one can argue me into a huff better than me. Are you sure this
is what's going on with our magic?"
Snape cracked one eye open again, glaring at her, and Hermione recalled that
he'd told her not to wake him.
"What?" she huffed. "You're not asleep yet. And this is a bit more important
than sleep. You have all night for sleeping when I leave."
"Will that be soon?" he asked mildly.
"Not if you keep snarking at me rather than answering my questions."
"I don't look forward to the coming days. Remind me to assign you to detentions
with Minerva for the next three days, Miss Granger," he snapped.
"What? Why?" Hermione frowned. "I'm not being rude."
"No, you're just channelling me," he muttered.
"I'm unsure if that means you find yourself annoying, or that I'm annoying when
channelling you. And why am I channelling you? This only says that people with
the same core could do group-casting projects because their magic was
compatible. We didn't group cast anything. We just shagged."
"Miss Granger?" he interrupted, his brow furrowing in annoyance and his eyes
flashing with warning. "If you're not going to read the entire book in search
of your answers before quizzing me for them, you will be relegated back to the
realm of annoying student rather than passingly intriguing distraction and I
will throw you out of my rooms with every ounce of venom I can muster."
Hermione knew there was something funky going on when she silently sneered at
him, making a face. He narrowed his eyes before sighing in annoyance. She
huffed when he bucked under her, his hands gripping her hips painfully tight.
"Your insolence is annoying and unattractive, Miss Granger," he warned quietly,
stilling just as suddenly when her head dropped back thanks to the way the
sparkles of his magic interwoven with hers suddenly throbbed as he prodded her
g-spot.
"Your impatience is frustrating," Hermione replied.
"There is nothing exciting about the research or the fusion, you silly little
witch," he snapped. "We have similar magical cores. Whilst fucking, magic is
expended, whether those fucking have matching cores or not. It's a transference
of energy that heightens the experience for every magic-user but achieves
little else with no lasting consequences unless they overdo it when they're
underage – which can lead to temporary depletion the same way any wielding can.
If, however, those shagging have matching cores, and the magic is
directed at the other person, rather than against them, this happens."
He flicked his hand between the two of them while Hermione trembled with the
way his magic was flaring and making her teeth chatter with its dark and
alluring power.
"But what is this?" she asked when he glared at her.
"This is what happens when inept little fools incorrectly use their magic on
someone. In your attempt to delve your magic against mine when I did so to you,
you used too much force and rather than just brushing against mine, or weaving
yours with mine like a snake through sand, you stabbed your magic into mine.
You pierced the fabric of my magic and invaded it, causing mine to attack
yours, which combined with your poorly timed orgasm, shattering it from an
icicle into a blizzard and losing control of the magic. Just as magic leaves
your body when you cast a spell, bits of your magic have left your body but
without the intent to create anything or inflict any kind of effect on
anything, it doesn't burn out. It just lingers, and will do so until it's
expended."
"But how did yours…. I can feel it," she frowned at him, waving a hand at
herself indicatively.
"When yours shattered to settle everywhere in me, mine was still attacking and
has invaded yours in return. It will fade in a few days."
"And until then?"
"Until then carrying someone else's magic tends to cause you to channel some of
the personality traits they exhibit that are rooted in their magic. Meaning you
will express my lack of patience, my temper, and my surliness until it wears
off. And I will probably receive curious looks from my colleagues because if
they talk to me, I might squirm in my seat with the undeniable urge to answer
their questions."
Hermione frowned at him.
"Won't that be…"
"Inconvenient?" he suggested. "Extremely."
"Obvious," she corrected. "If I'm acting like you, and you're acting like me,
won't people be suspicious?"
His mouth twisted in annoyance as he nodded sharply. "Probably. Though they
probably assume your core is fire, as I did, not ice. They'll chalk your
grumpiness up to PMT and my chattiness up to holiday cheer."
"Do you often experience holiday cheer?" Hermione asked, unable to keep from
giggling.
"Perhaps it's a month for firsts." He retorted coldly. "If you're going to keep
giggling, go away."
Hermione was surprised he hadn't already sent her away, if she was being
honest.
"Do you want me to get off?" She asked seriously.
"My understanding was that you already had. Four times," he smirked and
Hermione blushed.
She fidgeted, unable to think of anything to say in the face of this sinful and
wickedly amused Severus Snape. He chuckled darkly, closing his eyes and
adjusting her weight on top of him slightly, apparently leaving the decision to
her of whether she wanted to stay or go.
Hermione bit her lip, glancing at the clock ticking softly on his bedside
table. She should go. The last thing she needed was to get caught sneaking out
of Professor Snape's private quarters. Harry and Ron might be looking for her,
worried that she was still out of bed so late. They might think she'd been hurt
or waylaid returning to the common room after her detention. No, surely they'd
use the Map to make sure she was fine.
The Map!
"Bugger!" Hermione exclaimed, scrambling to get off Snape and hissing in
surprise when his eyes snapped open and his hands closed over her hips, pinning
her instantly. His reflexes would've unsettled her were she not panicking.
"What are you doing?" He demanded, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"The map," she said, and he eyed her like she'd lost her mind. "It's after
midnight and I'm not back in the common room, and Harry will be worried, and so
he's probably searching for me on the Marauder's map thinking you or Malfoy
have killed me. I need to go. Now."
"Fucking Potter!" Severus exclaimed, hoisting her off him and sitting up,
scowling so fiercely he could curdle milk.
Hermione scrambled off the bed, searching for her clothes amid the pile of his
robes where they were strewn across the floor in a trail of carnal destruction.
She wriggled into her knickers and her bra, diving back down for her jeans and
flinging Snape's trousers at him as she went.
"This is a problem," she told him as she fastened the button on her jeans.
"Miss Granger, stating the obvious will not alter the situation."
"Oh, don't 'Miss Granger' me like you're about to turn back into the rude, mean
git who gave me detention today. If you're getting stroppy, just wait until I'm
out the door, could you?"
"Insolence is unattractive," he snapped at her.
"So is rudeness," Hermione retorted. "Right. I'm dressed. I have my wand. Oh,
bloody hell, where is my other shoe?"
She dove back to the floor to peer under the bed and she froze when Professor
Snape began to laugh.
"What?" She demanded, lifting her head to glare at him whilst kneeling in the
middle of his bedroom floor. "I'm not holding it."
"Panic does not serve you well, Miss Granger," he said, looking amused as he
flicked his wand and Summoned the shoe from its hiding spot under a chair by
the bed.
"Magic," he said as he handed it to her.
"Right," Hermione muttered, feeling stupid. "Wand, shoes, clothes, knickers on
the right way. Shirt not inside out. Hair... well it's always a mess, so who's
going to notice? And my bag is in the classroom. Done. I'm leaving. Thanks for
the endorphins, Professor."
She was hurrying for the door as she spoke, and Snape caught her before she
could dart through it. Hermione raised her eyebrows, trying valiantly to keep
her eyes on his face rather than his bare chest.
He silently handed her a scroll of parchment; another note to excuse her for
being in the corridors at so late an hour.
"If you keep giving me these when you usually never excuse anyone for being out
of bed late, people will ask questions. Harry and Ron will have enough
questions without the other teachers getting curious," Hermione said quietly,
though she was grateful for the permission slip, just the same.
"Holiday cheer," he smirked before flicking his wand. "Take these with you, as
well."
Hermione watched, her eyes wide, as four books levitated off his personal
bookshelf, stacking themselves neatly and landing in her outstretched hands.
She darted a confused look at the surly Potions Master, shocked by his actions.
"You're… loaning me books from your personal collection?" Hermione asked,
confused and a little worried about him. "Are you alright, sir? Gods, you're
not under the Imperius curse or some terrible compulsion, are you?"
She pulled her wand from her pocket and flicked it at him, casting a Diagnostic
Charm and trying to detect anything that might be compelling him to shag her
and to offer her things.
"I'm of sound mind, Miss Granger," he said, though his lips twitched. "However,
you will need an excuse to hand to Potter should you return and find him
waiting for you with that infernal map. This provides you one. If he knows you
have been in my quarters, you can tell him you badgered me into loaning you
some books that you certainly won't find in the school library."
Hermione glanced at the pile of books in her arms, flipping through the titles
and frowning to know they were all Dark texts.
"These are… I can't let Harry and Ron see me reading books like this, Severus,"
she whispered, though there was a little thrill rushing through her at the very
idea of reading them. More than once during her Hogwarts career, she had craved
the chance to peruse the Restricted Section of the library at her leisure,
desperately craving the chance to learn about all branches of magic – even
those considered dangerous and wicked.
"History books?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in challenge without chastising
or correcting her for using his first name.
"History on Dark Magic," Hermione pointed out.
"Not so very long ago, Miss Granger, magic wasn't divided into Light and Dark
categories. Magic was just magic. The distinction between Light and Dark is
recent; a classification laid down by the Ministry when they sought ways to
better control the magical population and to better keep track of the tenor of
the magic being performed by witches and wizards, for the sake of ensuring we
didn't continue to reveal ourselves to the muggles, thus better avoiding
persecution. Before that there was no Light and Dark colouring of magic. There
were just the magical arts and all forms of it were studied at will. Even here
at Hogwarts."
"They still do so at Durmstrang, don't they?" Hermione asked.
"They do. These books are some of those on the current fourth year reading list
for all Durmstrang students. A well-rounded education begins by casting aside
the limits placed on knowledge by those too fearful to seek it, Miss Granger.
Are you too fearful to seek a full and in-depth understanding of magic in its
many forms?"
Hermione shook her head solemnly. Snape's lips twitched again, and he nodded at
the door, obviously dismissing her. She pursed her lip for a moment.
"When do you want them back?" she asked.
"When you're finished with them," he said, a knowing little grin pulling at the
corners of his mouth.
"Thank you," she murmured, unable to hold his gaze when his eyes glittered with
that wicked little gleam that ought to have made her nervous.
He nodded, though she only saw him do so out the corner of her eye when her
gaze trailed down the expanse of his bare chest, noting the many scars
littering his flesh and the faintest dusting of black hair across his chest.
Her heart stuttered just a bit and Hermione knew she needed to go before she
could do something foolish like throwing the books on the floor and hurling
herself at him, begging that he ravish her again until she knew every line of
his sinuous form.
"Goodnight Severus," she said softly when she lifted her eyes to his face once
more, regarding him by the dim light flickering in the fireplace across the
room.
"Goodnight, Hermione," he said, almost making her trip in surprise to hear him
use her first name. Her eyes widened just a little bit and Hermione blinked in
surprise. She wondered if it was even legal for one man to have been given so
sinful and alluring a voice. It certainly wasn't fair.
But then, she knew his thoughts about fairness. Nodding her head once, a little
smile pulling at her lips, Hermione hurried to the door without another word.
He watched her go, she knew. She could feel his gaze slithering over her as she
moved until she disappeared from sight and Hermione wondered what she was
supposed to do about the racing tempo of her heart and the terrible giddiness
suffusing her. She'd never be able to sleep now, even if he had just shagged
her into a stupor.
Collecting her bag from the classroom on her way out, Hermione practically
skipped through the corridors.
"Oi!" Mr Filch's oily tone invaded upon her giddiness four floors later and
Hermione sighed. "What are you doing out of bed? We'll just see what your head
of house has to say about this!"
"Good evening, Mr Filch," Hermione said politely. "I actually have a pass to be
in the halls so late."
She held it out to him, thinking that it really was a wretched dash of cold
water across her senses to have the delicious memories of her evening with
Severus interrupted by the likes of Argus Filch.
He snatched the note from her and unfurled it, reading it by one of the torches
that had lit up with her proximity.
"Snape, eh?" Mr Filch grunted. "I've got half a mind to drag you back down
there and confirm this is from him, girl."
Hermione smiled sweetly. "Considering the mood he was in after I badgered him
during my detention, I wouldn't recommend taking me anywhere near him. But if
you'd really like to, Mr Filch, I won't make a fuss."
"Grumpy again, is he?"
"He's been in the presence of a curious and impertinent student for hours. What
do you think?" Hermione replied dryly and Filch scowled before thrusting the
note back into her hands.
"Fine. Go on then, get. But I'll be asking him about this in the morning."
"I'd wait until he's had his coffee, if I were you," she smiled widely.
"Goodnight, Mr Filch."
He grumbled at her, waving her away before he prowled off again. No other
teacher interrupted her trek back to Gryffindor Tower and Hermione was tired by
the time she reached the Common Room, having to prod the Fat Lady awake to gain
entrance to the room. She wanted to crawl through the shower and dive under the
covers to sleep and dream wicked dreams of doing even naughtier things to her
favourite teacher.
What she didn't want to do was fight, but from the sight of Harry Potter
sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire, his eyes fixed on her as she
entered the common room, and his hands clutching the Marauder's Map, elbows
resting on his knees, she suspected she was about to endure one.
"Where've you been?" he asked in a low voice and Hermione glanced around the
common room, noting that Ron had waited for her, too. Unlike Harry, Ron was
dozing in his chair, snoring softly, his head lolling at an angle that would
probably crick it if he didn't move shortly.
"Detention," Hermione said. "You didn't have to wait up for me, Harry."
She tried to smile at him, fear coiling in her stomach as she wondered if she
smelled like Professor Snape.
"It's after midnight, Hermione. No teacher keeps students this late after
curfew," he said. "Not even gits like Snape."
Hermione sighed.
"Well, he did. I reorganized that entire storeroom. And had to do some of his
marking. And I might've inadvertently pushed him into a debate about magical
theory," Hermione admitted, biting her lip, hoping Harry wouldn't be able to
tell she was lying.
"Been watching you," he said quietly. "He left for a long time. Wasn't anywhere
in the castle."
"I think he was summoned to a Death Eater meeting," Hermione bit her lip,
nodding. "He hissed and grabbed his arm while I was cleaning out the storeroom.
And then he left for ages. He didn't dismiss me, so I didn't think it'd be a
good idea to just leave."
Harry narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, looking like he didn't believe her.
"You were in his rooms," he said, voice low and angry, filled with suspicion.
"He loaned me these," Hermione said in a small voice, hoisting the stack of
books Snape had given.
"Yeah?" Harry asked, and Hermione wondered if he'd ever sounded so insolent and
aggressive when speaking to her before. Maybe he'd had a bad evening. "Snape?
The greasy bat of the dungeons? The rotten bastard who took more than a hundred
points from Gryffindor and made nine kids cry today? He just decided to invite
you into his private quarters and loan you his personal books? What are they?
Cook books for the most dangerous potions in the world? How To Be A Death Eater
101?"
"History books," Hermione said quietly. "Look, Harry, I don't know what
you think I was doing, or what you're attempting to imply, but I'm not sure I
like your tone. Just because Professor Snape is prejudiced against you doesn't
mean he's horrible to everyone."
"He gave you a month of detention for something Peeves did. Without proof."
Hermione narrowed her eyes on her best friend, feeling a terrible thrum of
Severus's sinful magic where it was nestled against her own.
"He had proof, Harry. Unlike you, I don't have an invisibility cloak to dive
under whenever I see a teacher coming. I was in the Potions rooms last night
trying to brew Bruise Salve – for you, I might add – and he caught me. Since I
was able to unlock the storeroom today without asking him to do it – even
though he specifically wards it against students raiding it – he knew it was
me. I'd been in there. The cupboard's wards had been incorrectly
reapplied and he caught me with ingredients I wasn't supposed to have."
"And didn't punish you for it last night?" Harry demanded. "Every time he sees
me, he docks points. You didn't lose any last night."
"I got lectured," Hermione argued. "Not all of us have so little control over
our tongues that we antagonize him into a rage, Harry."
"If that bastard was inviting you into his rooms after a Death Eater meeting,
Hermione, then I would bet every galleon in my Gringotts vault that it's with
ulterior motives."
"What ulterior motive could he have for giving me history books, Harry?" she
demanded, thought a terrible sense of dread filled her.
"History of what?" Harry challenged.
"Core Fusion and group casting before the invention of wands. The origins of
magic, itself."
"Dark Magic?" Harry pressed.
"Some," Hermione nodded. "Magic wasn't always divided into Light and Dark like
it is now, you know?"
"So, he's running off to meet with Voldemort and returning in good enough
spirits to lend one of his least favourite students books about Dark Magic?"
Harry summarised. "And you think he doesn't have any ulterior motives. For a
smart girl, that's pretty bloody thick, Hermione."
"You know what, Harry?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, feeling her temper flare,
pushed all the more by Snape's magic. "Maybe it's all a plot Voldemort cooked
up. Maybe Professor Snape is going to forget all his morals and teacherly
responsibilities and seduce a student like me by giving me a few books and
engaging in a heated debate. Maybe Voldemort gave him a mission to worm his way
into my affections with the intention of getting to you. Maybe he wants inside
information of the Chosen One. Or maybe Professor Snape just happened to lose
his temper when I argued back about a particular note pertaining to Core Fusion
and he decided to prove me wrong by dragging me into his rooms and fetching the
proof of his points. Maybe he and I are mature enough as student and teacher to
disagree over something without it devolving to violence and name-calling and
insolent little comments designed to needle the other into a rage. Maybe I have
a good relationship with all of my teachers, including Professor Snape, and I
don't need to be interrogated for having a discussion with the man."
Harry's eyes glittered with fury and accusation.
"What if he is, Hermione?" Harry demanded. "He's a complete git. He'd never
help you without motive. He'd never tolerate anyone talking back to him and
then reward the behaviour with books."
"Oh, so you'd call it a reward to be given extra homework?" Hermione
challenged.
"No, but you would," Harry said quietly.
"What exactly are you accusing me of here, Harry?" Hermione demanded, propping
her fist against her hip and glaring at him hotly.
"Nothing," Harry snapped. "Forget it. Go ahead and play nice with the stupid
fucker. And when it bites you on the arse and I don't tell you things anymore
because Snape's trying to worm information about us out of you to feed back to
Voldemort, don't blame me."
"Do you actually imagine there is anything that you know that Snape doesn't?"
Hermione hissed, stomping closer to glare at her friend. "Are you that
arrogant? Or just that deluded? Do you really think there's anything that
Dumbledore tells you that he doesn't share with Professor Snape before sending
him into the viper's pit that every Death Eater meeting must surely be? He
risks his life, Harry. Do you get that? He's a double-agent working to bring
Voldemort down, returning to the monster's side again and again, hoodwinking
one of the most powerful wizards alive and playing the part of dutiful spy in
the Order whilst feeding us information that decimates Voldemort's plans and
probably doesn't make him very popular in their camp. What's worse is that
among the Order he is reviled for his Death Eater connections and he gets no
gratitude for risking his life. If it weren't for him and the information he
passes to the Order, you've probably have been dead by now, Harry."
"Now you're defending him?" Harry snarled, shooting to his feet and glaring
down at her.
"She always defends him, mate," Ron interrupted their stand-off tiredly.
"That's her thing. Championing the down-trodden. And you don't get more
pathetic and down-trodden than Snape. Let's all just go to bed, and everything
will be fine in the morning, yeah?"
"She was in his rooms, Ron," Harry argued hotly. Ron sighed, scratching at his
chest through the knitted jumper his mother had given him to Christmas two
years ago.
"So what, mate?" Ron said around a yawn. "It's bloody Snape. And this is
Hermione we're talking about. What do you think they were doing in there?
Shagging? Come on, Harry."
Ron rolled his eyes.
"He gave her books on Dark Magic," Harry insisted.
Ron looked at Hermione and quirked an eyebrow. Hermione held one out to him –
the one about Core Fusion and group wielding.
"It's a history book," he sighed. "Look at this, mate. Core Fusion. It's how
all wizards used to practice magic before wands were invented. Boring stuff.
It's not like it's blood rituals or human sacrifices, and believe me, wizarding
history is riddled with those."
Harry deflated a little at Ron's blasé dismissal of the material she'd been
given.
"You don't find it odd that Snape – bastard, arsehole fucking Snape – would
lend Hermione anything? You've seen the way he talks to her."
"Like every other teacher talks to her?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "He's a git to
you mate, and usually pretty rude to me, especially when I cock up my potions.
But the only time he's ever been openly hurtful or prattish to Hermione is that
time he made fun of her teeth after that hex she caught in fourth year that
made them grow big, you remember?"
"He calls her an insufferable know-it-all every chance he gets," Harry argued.
"Mate, she is a know-it-all. And she can be pretty bloody insufferable when she
gets all condescending because she's smarter than everyone – no offence,
Hermione," Ron said. "So, he kept her late in detention, so what?"
"And dragged her into his private chamber. That's his bedroom, Ron. He took
Hermione into his bedroom."
"Are you implying that Hermione is some kind of trollop with such bad taste
that she'd be seduced by Snape?" Ron asked, looking a little green around the
gills. "Blimey, Harry, I reckon you owe Hermione an apology if that's what you
think. She's a lot of things, but she's no tart. Especially not for a greasy
old git like Snape. He's got twenty years on us."
Hermione dug her nails into the palm of her hand, trying to keep from blushing
at Ron's easy dismissal as he listed just a few of the reasons that what she'd
been doing with Professor Snape was foolish.
"So, he just loaned her books from his private collection for no reason?" Harry
demanded. "He wouldn't loan us a cup of sugar, Ron."
"Well, yeah. But that's us. Hermione's the best in our year. Best in the whole
bloody school, probably. Teachers like smart kids who do their homework and
engage with lessons. Why wouldn't he loan her books? It's his job to teach,
right?"
Harry scowled, narrowing his eyes and looking between the pair of them as
though they'd both betrayed him for not incorrectly vilifying Professor Snape
as they'd always made the mistake of doing in the past. He huffed angrily,
shoved his glasses back up the length of his nose where they'd slipped down,
and stomped off up the stairs to bed without another word to either of them.
Ron shook his head, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.
"Sorry about him," he said to Hermione quietly, glancing over at her. "You
alright?"
Hermione nodded.
"I'm fine. Thank you for… you know… standing up for me and not accusing me of
ludicrous things," Hermione said weakly, her shoulders slumping.
Ron nodded.
"I'm thick, but I'm not stupid, you know?" he grinned at her, chuckling self-
deprecatingly. "You're alright, though? Snape didn't give you any trouble?"
Hermione shook her head, smiling gently.
"He was fine. Made me dissect beetles and chop flobberworms and things before
hurrying off to his meeting."
"And when he came back?" Ron asked, surprising her when he stepped closer and
tucked a stray curl behind her ear affectionately.
"A bit off, but that was probably the Occlumency. He wasn't horrible or even
rude to me. He got a bit annoyed with the way I'd graded some of his essays for
the younger students – apparently I'm too helpful in my criticisms."
Ron laughed. "Probably didn't call them stupid often enough."
Hermione chuckled, nodding. "I believed 'dunderheaded' is the word."
Ron shook his head, laughing some more. "Right, well, if you're all good, I'm
going to bed. I'll see if I can calm Hot-Head down so he won't be a right foul
git all day tomorrow, yeah?"
Hermione smiled. "That would be nice."
"Won't work," he said. "Might have to pummel him with a pillow until he loses
his temper and lets some of the poison out," Ron sighed.
"Please don't do anything silly, like starting a fist fight," Hermione asked.
"It'd do him good, you know?" Ron told her. "Bill and Charlie stand by a good
fight to help you think straight again."
"Harry needs our support, not to beaten bloody," Hermione reminded him.
"He all but called you tramp, Hermione," Ron reminded her.
Hermione sighed, frowning a little. "Well… alright, so maybe he deserves a few
good wallops, but now is hardly the time."
"Maybe tomorrow?" Ron suggested. "You can wallop him with one of those heavy
Arithmancy books you're always lugging around. I'll hold him, you hit."
"You're just scared he'd hit back if you tried it," Hermione teased.
"He would too, the prat," Ron said, laughing again. "Alright, I'm going to bed.
G'night, love."
He surprised her when he leaned in and dropped an affectionate kiss on her
lips. He froze almost immediately after doing it, too.
"Uh…shit," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry,
Hermione. I forget sometimes that we're not… you know."
"It's alright," she said softly, her cheeks turning pink as she recalled with
startling clarity all the tawdry things she and Ron had done to each other over
the summer. Not that they'd been dating. They'd been fooling around since the
summer between fourth and fifth year, having gotten entirely too bored one day
at Headquarters and begun wrestling before their raging teenage hormones had
gotten the better of them.
No one knew, of course, and they'd decided to keep things entirely casual. Not
even Harry or Ginny knew that during the summer, when no one else was around,
they sometimes snuck off to snog, which usually turned to shagging in short
order.
"It's not," Ron shook his head. "We had a deal that this… whatever is it we
were doing… was only a summer-time thing. And, you know, I've uh… kind of got a
thing going with Lavender… so, um… probably shouldn't be causally kissing you."
Hermione laughed. She wanted to curl her lip in disgust at the idea that he
fancied Lavender, but she bit her tongue on her thoughts regarding her
roommate, doubting Ron would have anything favourable to say if Hermione
revealed that she kind of had a thing going with Severus Snape.
"Our secret, then?" Hermione asked.
"One of… how many?" Ron asked, grinning.
Hermione swatted him. "Too many," she laughed. "But don't worry about it, yeah?
One little peck between best friends is nothing, given the things we've done to
one another in the past."
Ron's ears turned red, but he grinned sheepishly. "I s'pose not. You're too
good to me, Hermione."
"I know," she said, laughing.
He made a face at her before pulling on the front of her jumper, tugging her in
close and dropping a kiss to the top of her head. Hermione smiled and looped
one arm around his waist, cuddling into his chest appreciatively. Ron hugged
her back briefly before he pulled away, yawning loudly again and heading for
the stairs up to his dormitory. She waved to him before he disappeared, shaking
her head fondly before climbing the stairs to her own dormitory, too.
She hated that when she set the books and her belongings down on her bed before
hurrying to the shower, she couldn't help regarding herself in the mirror for a
moment and wondering if maybe Harry was right. Maybe Professor Snape did have
ulterior motives. Maybe shagging her, and showing her this other side of
himself, and loaning her things, was all an elaborate plot that would come back
to bite her in the arse. Closing her eyes under the spray and scrubbing at her
skin, she really hoped it wasn't true, but she couldn't forget the niggling
little sense of concern that nipped at her psyche, recalling the morbidly
curious expression he'd been wearing when he'd woken her down in his chambers.
If she didn't know better, she'd almost think he was fascinated, like a little
boy who's discovered an exciting new toy and just can't wait to see what it
will endure before it breaks.
***** Chapter Seven *****
                                 Chapter Seven
===============================================================================
"Are you feeling quite alright, Severus?" Minerva imposed upon him while he was
enjoying his morning coffee and perusing a book he'd dug from his bookshelf
last night after Miss Granger's departure.
"Fine, Minerva. And you?" he asked boredly without looking up from his book.
"Concerned for your wellbeing," the woman replied, leaning over and tipping up
the cover of his book to read the title. "Is this some form of urgent
research?"
"A passing curiosity. Must you fuss over me, Minerva? Despite how often you act
like her, you are not my mother."
"I haven't seen you read in public outside of your lectures since you were a
student yourself, Severus."
Severus paused, frowning as he lifted his gaze from his book to meet her eyes.
He scowled when he realised that he'd been incorrect about just which parts of
Miss Granger's personality were closely tied to her magic. Apparently being a
bookish nerd was magical for her.
"Are you suggesting I shouldn't read in public, Minerva?" He asked mildly.
"You're making everyone nervous," she said, leaning back a little so that she
wasn't invading his space, knowing he hated it whenever anyone touched him
without permission. He glanced past her to find Filius and Pomona watching him
as well and his scowled deepened into a sneer.
"Shall I remove myself from your presence?" He offered, thinking that being
that it was a Saturday, he ought to have stayed in bed to avoid this
ridiculousness. It would surely make the most sense to hide away in his
quarters until this wretched fusion of magic Miss Granger had instigated
depleted itself.
"Of course not, Severus," Minerva shook her head, smiling a little when he
didn't immediately lose his temper. "I'm just surprised. By all means, enjoy
your book."
"How can I possibly, now that I have your approval?" He drawled, and Minerva
swatted his forearm in chastisement for his tone.
"Don't be so disagreeable, Severus. It's almost Christmas. Shortly the children
will all take the train home. Surely you're thrilled at the prospect of the
castle almost completely emptying?"
"As though I won't be required to spend the holidays engaging in activities I
would rather not?" Severus asked, leaving it up to her to figure out if he
meant that he'd be forced to attend Dumbledore's annual Yule staff party, or if
he was referring to the Dark Lord's habit of enacting the very wickedest of
rituals and festivities around Christmas.
"My, aren't you a ball of light this morning?" Minerva chuckled, rolling her
eyes. "Forget I asked, Severus. Go back to your book and pretend we don't
exist."
Severus narrowed his eyes on her, feeling the most irksome tingle inside him
thanks to Miss Granger's apparent respect for this woman. Severus respected her
too, of course. How could he not? She might be a pushy, bossy, stern, and
positively irritating Head of Gryffindor, and she might have a terrible habit
of channelling his late mother and chastising him for things like he was still
just a boy, but he was secretly rather fond of her.
"As though you will be able to refrain from interrupting me again in a few
minutes when you grow bored of being ignored?" he drawled.
She narrowed her eyes in return and Severus smirked at her before refilling his
coffee mug and rising to his feet, taking his book with him and refusing to
excuse himself before stalking out of the Great Hall, intent on enjoying his
book in the peace of his private rooms.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
"Antonin, my friend," the Dark Lord asked quietly, eyeing the Russian wizard
who was perhaps the sanest amongst his most zealous Death Eaters.
"My Lord?" Antonin Dolohov asked, bowing his head deferentially.
"I have a very important task for you," Lord Voldemort said softly.
"Anything, my Lord," Antonin whispered fervently.
"I require the presence of every living with that our dear friend Severus has
fucked," Voldemort told him quietly.
Antonin blinked at him, obviously having not even the faintest idea of where to
begin looking for such women. Severus was, after all, a very private man and he
did not share his bed easily. At least not outside of a revel or a gathering of
the brethren when whiskey and potions flowed freely, and the magic got the best
of them.
"Use this," Voldemort offered a single raven strand of hair to his loyal Death
Eater. "I believe you've a means for discovering even the most intimate details
about someone with just a single strand of their hair, no?"
Antonin took the strand of Severus's hair carefully, smiling coldly.
"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," he murmured, bowing once more and waiting
to be dismissed.
Lord Voldemort watched him hurry from the room, muttering to himself as he
went, apparently thrilled to have been given a useful task. The best thing
about those of his followers who had endured Azkaban, Voldemort decided, was
that they so rarely asked after his motives when given a directive. Shaking his
head, Tom Marvolo Riddle turned his attention to the other, necessary
arrangements he needed to make to smooth the way to making Severus Snape the
Lord of Selwyn Hall.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Hermione had been in a wretched mood all weekend thanks to Snape's magic, and
she'd done her level best to hole herself up in her dormitory, sinking to her
eyeballs in the books that Snape had given her. The thrill of learning had
suffused her all weekend and she'd taken extensive notes from the books
Professor Snape had loaned to her, absorbing the information inside them with
an almost carnal delight.
She'd also had a good long while to ponder Harry's accusation and her own
worries regarding Snape. She didn't delude herself into thinking he was overly
attracted to her, despite the recent shagging. Indeed, the more she thought
about it, the more she feared that while the first time might've been a mistake
borne of his pain, intoxication, and occlumination after returning from his
Death Eater meeting, the second night of shagging had surely been more
thoroughly planned.
Hermione doubted very much that he'd loaned her these books merely out of the
goodness of his heart. Harry was right; Snape was much too disagreeable to do
anything without motive, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what
it was. He could gain nothing in the way of inside information about Harry
through her. Harry was rather transparent, his emotions worn on his sleeve. She
very much doubted that Snape didn't already know about the horcruxes, and she
doubted there was anything Harry learned from Dumbledore about Voldemort that
Snape wasn't privy to. Moreover, she might be one of Harry's best friends, but
she didn't have anything of use that he could pass on to Voldemort. Not really.
The only other conclusion she could draw was that he might be attempting to
lure her to the Dark side, but she doubted that very much because of her blood
status. Being muggle-born practically guaranteed that no matter how clever or
gifted she might be, she would never be welcomed among the likes of zealous
Death Eaters. Malfoy and the other Slytherins were perfect examples of that.
"We're off to Quidditch practice, Hermione," Ron told her, nudging her foot
while she sat curled in an armchair in front of the fire in the common room, on
Sunday afternoon.
Hermione blinked, jolted from her thoughts. She looked up to find Harry, Ron,
and Ginny all dressed in their quidditch training gear.
"Oh. Is it afternoon already?" she asked, surprised and glancing out the window
to note the low hanging afternoon sun that peeked through the clouds, making
the snow upon the grounds and the windowsills glitter brilliantly.
"She emerges to reality once more," Ginny chuckled. "You've been lost in your
books all weekend, Hermione. You owe me girl-time after practice."
"If girl-time involves gabbing about boys and doing our nails, please know that
I loathe nail-polish, and I'm going to gab about your brothers."
"Ew," Ginny wrinkled her nose. Ron laughed, his ears turning red.
"All good things, right?" he asked her.
Hermione smiled at him innocently. "Are there any other kind where you're
concerned?"
"Why don't I trust you when you smile like that?" Ron wanted to know, looking
wary.
"You're smarter than I've been giving your credit for?" Hermione suggested,
grinning.
Ron and Harry laughed.
"I'm going to make you pay for that, you know? You wait. You won't be expecting
it, and just out of the blue I'm going to get you back, Hermione."
"I'm terrified," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you lot going to Quidditch
practice, or not?"
"So impatient when there are books to be read," Harry chuckled.
"It's not that you're boring," Hermione assured them, grinning mischievously.
"It's just that you can't inform me of the thrilling inner workings of a coven
circle with as much analysis as this glorious book."
"So, now we're boring and thick?" Ron asked.
"Speak for yourself," Ginny told her brother. Ron grabbed her, looping his arm
over her shoulders and pulling her close before giving her a noogie.
"Now who's thick, little sister?" Ron taunted, scrubbing his knuckles
mercilessly against her skull.
"Get off!" Ginny screeched, elbowing him in the ribs and following up with a
kidney jab.
Hermione rolled her eyes at their scuffle and turned her attention back to her
book. The next time she looked up her friends were gone, and she frowned at the
back cover of the book, having finished and closed it. She had questions. And
she wanted more answers. It also occurred to her that if she was going to get
these books returned to Professor Snape, now might be the perfect opportunity
since she wouldn't have Harry breathing down her neck while he was off at
training, and no one else would have to know she'd been loaned anything by
Professor Snape.
Though he might not appreciate having his Sunday afternoon interrupted by a
student. Hermine sighed, tracing the back cover carefully for a minute and
glancing around the common room. Most of the occupants were scrambling with
homework they'd left to the last minute, or just sitting around and enjoying
the warmth of the common room when the outside world was blanketed in snow.
Supposing that the worst he could do would be to take his books and send her
away without answers, Hermione decided to take the risk. Hurrying up to her
dormitory, Hermione glanced in the mirror, making a face at her out of control
curls. Dressed in jeans, slippers, and a jumper Mrs Weasley had knitted for her
last year, she looked comfortable, rather than sexy, but then she supposed that
was the point. The last thing she needed was anyone, especially Snape, thinking
that she was dressing for attention.
Collecting the four books he'd loaned her, Hermione untied the messy bun she'd
pulled her curls into, letting the wild corkscrews unravel and hang loose down
her back before setting off in the direction of the dungeons.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus frowned at the knock that sounded on the door into his private
quarters, having had none of his wards tripped when anyone entered his
classroom, or his office – which the intruder must have done to reach the door
into his chambers. He glanced at the door, listening to the smart rap of
knuckles against the wood, before glancing down at his person. He'd yet to get
out of his pyjamas, despite it being mid-afternoon. He certainly wasn't in the
mood for visitors. Getting over the fusion of Miss Granger's magic with his own
was a bit like being hungover and he was in no fit state for company. Despite
his curiosity and suspicion regarding whomever dared interrupt his afternoon,
Severus turned his attention back to his book, thinking ill of Miss Granger for
her influence that had rekindled his reading habit.
The rap of knuckles a second time was accompanied by a call through the door in
a feminine voice and Severus narrowed his eyes. Probably Minerva, wanting to
check on him and apologise for any offence she might've offered at breakfast.
He listened to the faint scrapings of feet outside the door, hoping the invader
might've left.
He hoped in vain.
His wand was in his hand and his eyes were narrowed to slits when the lock
clicked, and his wards were expertly disabled before the door creaked open.
"Probably going to kill me for this but I'm not leaving valuable books where
just anyone can get them," the invader was muttering as she pushed the door
open whilst juggling her wand and a stack of books.
The riot of coffee coloured curls that marked her identity didn't stop Severus
from firing a Stinging Hex. She blocked it, her eyes widening as she looked
over at him.
Miss Granger.
"Oh, you're here," she exclaimed, smiling.
"Miss Granger, are you aware what a locked and warded room signifies?" he
asked, eyeing her dangerously.
"An open invitation to come right in, obviously," she drawled sarcastically in
retort. "Why didn't you answer the door?"
"It's my prerogative not to when I'm not interested in company," he sneered.
"Yet here you are."
She narrowed her eyes on him and Severus could tell she was sizing up whether
he was currently playing the Death Eater or the teacher.
"Apologies, sir," she bit out, going so far as to offer a little curtsey. "I
was merely returning your belongings. My gratitude for their loan."
She set the books down on his coffee table, flicked her hair and turned her
back like she meant to leave. Glaring at her back, Severus flicked his wand,
slamming the door in her face before she could vacate his rooms.
"What do you think you're doing disabling my wards and helping yourself to my
rooms, Miss Granger? How dare you barge in on me - on anyone - when the room is
locked and warded against you!? I might've been naked in here, for all you
knew."
She turned back to him, raising her eyebrows.
"As though I've never seen that before?" She scoffed.
"Perhaps you invaded, hoping to see it again." He taunted, smirking cruelly and
waiting for her to blush. His eyes narrowed when she did no such thing.
"Perhaps I did," she snapped. "Now, since you're obviously in no fit state for
company and unlikely to offer stimulating discussion that isn't cushioned in
insults, I'll be off."
Severus shot to his feet, glaring at her and cursing the way her eyes darted
down to take in the fact that he was shirtless and barefoot, his bathrobe
hanging open over the black track pants worn low on his hips.
"Your insolence knows no bounds, Miss Granger. "
"I merely emulate those whose company I'm in," she retorted, and Severus
seriously considered hexing her.
"Witty," he sneered.
"Merlin, you're out of sorts today," she grumbled, folding her arms over her
chest.
"It surprises you that someone might be annoyed when you break into their
private quarters uninvited, disabling complex wards and locking charms? And
what are those? Slippers? Really, Miss Granger? Were you raised by heathens?"
She huffed at him, blushing as she glanced at her slippers.
"I'm leaving," she declared. "You can return to being a grumpy sod, alone."
"Are you aware that if any other student spoke to me this way, I'd have them
drawn and quartered?" He demanded.
Her lips twitched knowingly and a wicked little glint came into her eyes that
made Severus want to hex her all over again. She had the smug, conniving look
that he'd worn himself too many times to count when needling someone for
something they undoubtedly felt guilt over. And she wasn't wrong. He might've
become increasingly intrigued by the tricky little witch, and by the idea of
thoroughly corrupting her, but the shreds of morality he still retained
throbbed dully every time he looked at her. He should never have fucked her to
begin with, and he certainly shouldn't have done so more than that initial
time, but here he was having repeatedly shagged the little swot, and having her
rub it in his face that he obviously allowed her a certain amount of leeway
he'd never permitted of any of other student.
"Special treatment for me, Professor?" She taunted, her tone distinctly
flirtatious in a way that, he was ashamed to admit, made his cock twitch.
"I was raised to make allowances for those less gifted than myself," he sneered
cruelly in retort, only too willing to punish her for the wretched breaches of
morality he'd been committing, and for the fact that the little chit was
obviously aware that she was having some effect on him.
Her smile vanished at his words, her eyes narrowing hatefully and her hand
twitching around her wand as she stomped closer, obviously unafraid of him even
when he loomed over her. She almost looked like she was going to hex him, and
Severus knew he had problems when he found himself itching with the wish that
she would. He'd kill for a decent duel and while he doubted she'd know any of
the dark hexes he or his brethren might fling at each other, he didn't doubt
that she had a wicked repertoire of spells up her sleeve and reflexes quick
enough to block most of his unfriendly attacks.
"You know what, Professor Snape? All I wanted to do was return your books, and
discuss their content with you, yet all I get is hostility and insults. I
didn't expect special treatment, sir, but it was obviously my mistake to have
expected a little maturity. In future, I'll be sure to avoid accepting loans
from you and will endeavour to keep my thoughts to myself."
Severus narrowed his eyes on her when she accompanied the word 'maturity' with
a slap of her hand against his bare chest.
"If only you'd learn to keep your hands to yourself, too," he snapped.
"Oh, you can be sure that I most certainly will in future, Professor," she
sneered hatefully, her dark eyes flashing with hostility as she pulled her hand
away like she'd been burned.
She jerked backward and turned to stomp for the door once more, twisting her
wand like a knife stabbed in flesh and expertly disabling his locking charms
all over again. Severus narrowed his eyes, recognising his own unique disabling
spell, which she shouldn't have known how to perform. Had she been watching him
so closely to have learned it, or had she stumbled upon it in some other way?
"Miss Granger?" he asked, lowering his voice to the silken purr he'd perfected
when luring students into trouble, and when sweet talking the Dark Lord.
She froze, her back stiffening as she halted her departure. She didn't turn,
apparently too annoyed with him to face him once more and Severus narrowed his
eyes on her, closing the distance between the two of them once more. When he
stood directly behind her, close enough to let her feel the puff of his breath
on the back of her neck, she shivered.
"How closely have you been observing me that you're stealing my spells, Miss
Granger?" he asked quietly, his lips by her ear.
"I learned this spell in a book," she said defensively.
"Funny," he sneered. "I've never published a manuscript."
"Are you so arrogant as to imagine that you're the only other person in the
world who knows this spell?" she asked, turning slowly once more, her back
pressed to the door when she took a small step back to find him so
overwhelmingly close.
"Considering that I invented both the wards that spell cancels, and the unique
disabling effect, rather than the complete cancellation of the magic, yes, Miss
Granger. I am that arrogant," he said quietly. "The only means you could have
had for learning it would be observing me very closely."
"I learned it in a book," she replied stubbornly, and Severus dove into her
mind the moment she defiantly met his gaze.
He rifled through her memories and thoughts with surprising ease before
discovering the memory where she had, in fact, read the incantation and its
effect within a book. A battered, edited, defaced Potions book, to be precise.
"Miss Granger, explain to me how a witch whose life revolves around a hyped up
and inflated ego built on cleverness managed to trust a hand-written entry in a
book?" he said, pulling free of her mind and hearing the very soft sound she
made in protest, having tried to keep him from locating the particular memory
he'd accessed.
"Perhaps I know the author of the hand-written entry," she replied, tight
lipped.
"Intimately, I'd say," Severus purred, loathing himself for the little flair of
desire beginning to bubble inside of him as he stared her down.
Her cheeks brightened to red and her eyes darted to his lip as though she were
imagining what it would be like to snog him. Severus caught the tip of his
index finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to his own.
"How did you come by my sixth year Potions textbook?" he asked curiously. "Been
raiding my belongings in addition to my stores, have you?"
She shook her head.
"I don't have it," she admitted. "Someone else does. I believe he found it in
the back of the Potions cupboard at the beginning of the year when Professor
Slughorn allowed him into the NEWT level Potions course."
Severus's stomach flipped uncomfortably, his mind recalling Potter's decent
attempts at their Felix Felicius brew on Friday, and a handful of mentions
Horace had made of Potter's skill in Potions. The little wretch had his Potions
book. Severus might've paled, were he able. Some of the things he's scribbled
into those pages were things he never wanted to see the light of day again.
He'd been a hateful and bitter teenager burning with jealousy and betrayal and
obsession when he'd written some of those things and when he'd invented some of
those spells. In the hands of a reckless menace like Potter, they could be
lethal.
"Potter has been utilising some of those spells and things?" he asked, his
throat tightening in panic.
"It's your book?" Miss Granger confirmed, her eyes widening.
"You just said you knew the author of those hand-written entries!" he hissed,
narrowing his eyes on her.
"Well, I mean, I suspected it was yours when I noticed that you make some of
the same alterations to the recipes for class in Potions. And it certainly
looks like the same hand-writing that is usually viciously scribbled all over
my essays to remind me how unoriginal I am," she huffed. "But I
wasn't certain it was yours. Why on Earth were you referring to yourself as the
Half-Blood Prince? The only mention I could find of any 'Prince' was a woman
named Eileen Prince, who'd attended Hogwarts some twenty years prior to the
dates in that book."
Severus almost winced, recalling that he'd written some of that drivel down,
and his heart gave a painful twist inside his chest at the mention of his
mother.
"I am a half-blood," he informed her quietly, eyeing her shrewdly and wondering
what steps might need to be taken to mitigate the damage his book could do in
the hands of Potter. "And Eileen Prince was my mother. As a half-blood wizard
sorted into Slytherin attending Hogwarts in a time when the Dark Lord was
popular and active, gaining power behind his blood supremacist cause, and as a
man with little appreciation for muggles after my own experiences with them, I
wanted to identify both my link to a powerful pureblood wizarding family -the
Princes – and to ensure my blood status was well known among my brethren. I was
also sixteen, angst-ridden, and the prelude to the cruel and cutting wizard
standing before you. Nothing that I scribbled into those pages is suitable for
the likes of Potter to be reading, Miss Granger."
She tipped her head to one side, eyeing him almost curiously, apparently
unaware of the growing anger simmering inside him.
"I have trouble imaging you as a teenager," she informed him softly.
"You will have trouble imagining anything at all if you don't explain just what
you think you're doing trusting the scribbles of an unknown teenager in a
twenty year old book," he snapped.
"They're your scribbles," she frowned. "What does it matter?"
Before he could think better of it or control the urge to do so, Severus's
hands shot up to bury in her wild curls, gripping tight and pulling her closer,
his nose almost brushing hers as he glared down at her furiously. She
whimpered, rising up on her toes, trying to keep him from pulling her hair too
hard.
"It would be a mistake on your part to believe you can trust me, Miss Granger,"
he informed her icily. "I am not now, nor have I ever been a nice or a
trustworthy person. Some of the spells I invented in my youth are deadly and
the blind trust of idiotic teenagers in their uses and their intentions is both
terrifying and outrageous."
She paled considerably, her eyes darting between both of his searchingly,
perhaps seeking some clue that he was having her on, or anything other than
deadly serious.
"The ones we've used have all been safe," she whispered. "Levicorpus,
and Muffliato, and the disabling charm – which Harry hasn't figured out yet –
have all been useful and mostly harmless."
"And others are curses that would have your victims expelling their own
entrails and getting tangled in them, Granger!" he snarled. "There are spells
in that book that cause your victim's eyeballs to boil in the sockets and
spells that can cleave flesh from bone with a flick of your wand, rendering you
with the skills of a butcher, hacking at the corpse of your victims."
He released her, shoving her away from himself and hearing the breath huff from
her lungs as she collided with the door. Severus stalked away from her,
beginning to pace, his fury and his concern growing by the second. It was one
thing to corrupt Miss Granger and open her eyes to the Darker branches of the
magical world that she'd yet to explore. She was careful and clever and usually
did her research before attempting anything reckless. In the hands of Potter,
some of his deadliest spells would become little more than terrible and tragic
accidents just waiting to happen. Worst of all, given his temper and his
loyalties, not to mention his suspicions, Potter's most likely target for some
of those evil curses was Draco. Severus's own godson. He might be beyond his
ability to care about much when it really boiled down to it, but he was as fond
of the boy as he could manage to be.
"Why would you invent such spells?" she wanted to know, looking aghast when she
regained her balance and pushed away from the door, following him deeper into
the room.
Severus stopped on a dime and spun to face her once more. His hand closed over
the left sleeve of his robe, shoving the fabric up to reveal the wretched black
Dark Mark blemishing his pale skin. He thrust his arm in her direction, letting
her see the writhing, pulsing, terrible mark he bore.
"Was this too subtle a clue about my personality, Granger?" he sneered coldly,
watching the way her eyes widened and her breath caught as she eyed the mark
fearfully.
"No," she shook her head. "But the book was from your sixth year."
Severus laughed.
"Did you think the Dark Lord cared about age when he was recruiting before his
brief fall?" he asked cruelly. "In your experience, has youth kept you and your
irksome friends from finding trouble and engaging in illegal activities? Has
Potter's age kept the Dark Lord from hunting him?"
She shook her head, frowning.
"I earned this mark at sixteen, Miss Granger," Severus told her quietly. "And I
wore it with pride for five long years until the Dark Lord's fall. I have done
things that even your brilliant mind cannot fathom. My loyalties might've
shifted, but I have never been a trustworthy or a nice person and to assume
otherwise would be to your own detriment."
Her lower lip trembled like she might cry when he met her gaze and Severus
curled his lip, disgusted by her weakness.
"Get out of my sight, Granger," he commanded. "And if you warn Potter that I
will be reclaiming my property from his possession in short order, know that
you will suffer a fate beyond your darkest imagination."
He could tell when she took a small step back, her brow furrowing, that she
wasn't as intrigued by this cruel side of his Death Eater persona. He could
tell she'd begun to think of him as two separate people; bastard teacher and
sinful Death Eater, perhaps imagining that never the twain would meet. The
realisation that his cruelty and his iciness was as much a part of being a
Death Eater as the sinful parts were like a bucket of icy-water dumped over her
head and she backed away from him until she reached the door, her hand fumbling
blindly with the doorknob until she opened it and turned as she fled from his
presence like the clever little witch she was supposed to be.
***** Chapter Eight *****
                                 Chapter Eight
===============================================================================
Hermione raced up the stairs and into the boy's dormitories the moment she
returned to the common room. She didn't even think about it as she hurried to
Harry's trunk and pried open the lid, grateful that Harry and Ron were both at
Quidditch training, while Neville, Dean and Seamus were nowhere around. She
didn't want to be seen stealing the Potions book from Harry, but she couldn't
let him keep it. He would undoubtedly be furious with her if he knew she'd
taken it, but Hermione wouldn't risk leaving in it his possession. Not now. Not
knowing that Professor Snape really was the past owner and the one responsible
for the spells scribbled in the margins.
Harry would want to destroy it the minute he learned it'd been Snape's, anyway.
He would throw a tantrum, she was sure, but Hermione would be stoic in her
responses when he questioned her about it. Which he would undoubtedly do. Her
hand hesitated over the Marauders Map when she found it tucked inside the book
like a bookmark. She didn't like the way Harry had been keeping an eye on her
with it, but she had no intention of returning to Snape's quarters ever again,
so it mattered little if he kept it to spy on the likes of Malfoy.
Besides, if she took that, too, he'd know for certain that it'd been her and
he'd probably try to hex her. Tucking the book into her back pocket, Hermione
replaced the one she was taking with a duplicated copy of her own Potions book.
She left the room before she could be caught in there.
"You alright, Hermione?" Neville asked, frowning at her when she reached the
bottom of the boy's stairs, blinking at her in surprise.
"Neville. Hi. I was looking for Harry and Ron," she said.
"I think they're at practice," Neville said. "Is everything ok? You look a bit
spooked."
"Everything's fine," Hermione smiled tightly. "I um… listen I'm going to go to
the library, alright? If Harry and Ron are looking for me later, could you let
them know where I'll be."
"Sure, Hermione," Neville smiled kindly. "Are you sure you're alright? You
really do look a bit frazzled."
Without thinking, Hermione nodded and stepped into him, hugging the plump boy
tightly.
"I'm fine," she told him when he patted her awkwardly on the back, apparently
unaccustomed to such affection. "Thanks Neville. You're really great, you
know?"
Neville's cheeks were pink when she pulled back and held him at arm's length,
smiling into his face.
"Uh… thanks, Hermione. You're great, too."
Hermione nodded once, releasing him and stepping back before smiling tightly
once more and hurrying for the door. She needed to think. The truth was that
she was spooked. They'd been incredibly lucky to have avoided using one of
Snape's dark spells whilst rifling through his book and she'd been beyond
horrified to learn he'd taken the Dark Mark at sixteen. What was worse was that
he'd told her that he'd worn that mark with pride. He'd been proud to be a
Death Eater; proud to be engaging in illegal activities, affiliated with a
monster who seemed bent on wiping muggles and muggleborns like her off the face
of the earth.
She couldn't reconcile it with the man she knew him to be, now. Maybe she'd
just been deluding herself. Maybe she'd been enthralled by his voice and his
dry, dark sense of humour, and his wretchedly intriguing hands and she'd let
things get out of hand. Maybe she was just a foolish little girl playing a game
she didn't understand against a far more skilled opponent.
She wandered the halls aimlessly, her thoughts in a whirl, her hand clenched
around the wand in her pocket. She paced and she muttered to herself, trying to
make sense of how she'd let things get so out of hand. It was one thing to have
had a few sexual encounters with Viktor, and to have had a casual sexual affair
with Ron. They were both close to her age, both decent young men, and both
unlikely to hurt her. They were good people who'd taken her fancy and that was
fine.
Professor Snape was another matter. He was her teacher. He was wicked. He was a
Dark wizard who did dark things and engaged in terrible activities that were
far outside of the law. He was a puppet for two master tricksters and he was
walking a knife edge between Light and Dark for a cause she didn't fully
understand. She might be affiliated with the Order and be Harry's best friend,
but she knew nothing of Snape's heritage or his background. He was too private.
She hadn't even known his mother's name, and yet she'd been riding his cock.
Her own mother would be appalled with her. The age difference between them
meant little to her, if she was honest. Her own parents had a fifteen-year gap
between them, and they were two of the happiest people she knew. Age was just a
number, they always said, what counted was a person's experiences. And she knew
very little about Snape's experiences. It hadn't fully occurred to her until
today that there had been a time when he wasn't working as a spy for the Order;
when he'd been just a young wizard following a Dark Lord and willing to do
whatever that Lord asked of him for the cause.
She didn't doubt he had murdered. She knew he was a liar. She knew he was
wicked, perhaps even a little bit evil. Merlin, she hadn't even considered what
other things he might've done as a Death Eater. He wasn't sitting in a prison
cell, so she told herself that maybe he hadn't done anything too bad.
Her mouth twisted when the little voice in her head muttered that maybe he just
hadn't been caught. Maybe he'd raped people. Maybe he'd tortured people into
madness. Maybe he liked to play with knives, or fire, or the type of magic that
could boil people's eyes out of their skulls. Maybe he'd tortured defenceless
creatures in his youth, testing his inventions on things that couldn't fight
back.
Hermione felt sick even thinking about it. Her stomach twisted to know that
despite all that, he still intrigued her. She wanted to know more about him and
even though her common sense and the voice of reason inside of her was telling
her to run for her life and never look at him again, she knew she would be
lured back. Like a moth to flame, even now, she felt the strongest urge to
return to his quarters and to impose on him until he told her his every secret.
The voice in her head muttered that she should be interested in someone like
Ron. That voice wanted her to tell Ron that she wanted more than the physical
relationship they'd had during the summer. That voice said that Severus Snape
was dangerous with a capital 'D' and that she'd only end up hurt, or killed, if
she didn't get over her silly little crush and forget him. The voice reminded
her of the way he'd looked at her like a toy he wanted to play with until it
broke – like a sociopath eyeing his next victim.
And so, when she found her feet carrying her to the door into his office, her
hands restlessly twitching as she clutched her wand, Hermione knew she was in
trouble. She should leave. She should run for her life. But she wouldn't.
He flung the door open before she could knock, the wards around the office
having tripped, no doubt. He glared down his nose at her, dressed this time and
looking as sinfully formidable as ever. Hermione hated the little shudder that
rushed through her as she took in the sight of him. He curled his lip, looking
positively disgusted with her for returning, and Hermione knew she was likely
to receive a tongue lashing.
She stalked past him and into his office just the same, squeezing by him in the
doorway and entering the office without invitation. He didn't speak as he
slammed the door behind her, stalking around his desk with all the predatory
grace of a big cat and Hermione loathed feeling rather like a mouse in his
presence. She fished the battered Potions book from her pocket and set it on
the desk between them.
"More theft, Granger?" he asked snidely, eyeing her coldly.
Hermione knew from the lack of 'Miss' before her surname that he wasn't at all
in the mood for being her teacher.
"Harry will murder me when he finds out it's gone," Hermione told him quietly,
frowning.
"Imagine the damage he could do when he flings one of my dark curses at someone
without understanding what it might do," Snape sneered in retort and Hermione
nodded.
She dropped into the chair opposite his desk inside his office, pressing the
heels of her palms to her eyes and trying to urge herself to leave his presence
once more.
"He'll suspect me," she muttered. "He'll know I took it. I've been arguing with
him for months that he needs to get rid of that book because it gave him an
unfair advantage in Potions classes. He'll think I took it to be petty and
return him to his former level of potion-making abilities. He'll accuse me of
feeling threatened and betraying him for the sake of a grade."
"Accuse him of Dark magic for following my scribblings," Snape drawled in
retort. "It is, after all, true."
"That wouldn't be a good idea," Hermione murmured without uncovering her eyes
though she'd swear she could feel him looming over her. "He already accused me
of… well, he implied that I was a tart and that you were up to no good, where
I'm concerned. He knows I was in your quarters on Friday night. He and Ron were
waiting up for me when I returned to the common room."
"He confronted you?" Snape asked, and Hermione nodded. When she felt his hands
encircling her wrists, Hermione took her hands from her eyes and looked up,
meeting his dark gaze. "Show me?"
She was surprised he'd bothered to ask permission when he usually just invaded
her mind when he wanted to know something she wasn't sharing. Nodding her
consent, Hermione held his gaze, letting him into her head. She focused on the
memory of her fight with Harry, recalling the way he'd accused her of
fraternising with the enemy and the implication that she was stupid enough to
let Severus manipulate her. She loathed the niggling feeling that Harry was
right as she sat there in his office, having just betrayed her best friend's
trust.
"It was unwise to have suggested anything remotely resembling seduction," he
said quietly when he withdrew from her mind a few minutes later, having viewed
the memory all the way through from the minute she'd returned to the common
room right up until she'd begun undressing to shower.
Hermione huffed in surprise that he hadn't sneered about her affair with Ron.
"What else was I supposed to do? Vehement denial in the face of accurate
accusation isn't my forte," she said. "I'm actually not that good a liar."
"I am aware," he replied, and Hermione narrowed her eyes on him, slumping back
in her chair and glaring at him, finding that sometime during his perusal of
her memories, he'd invaded her space to be standing between her knees, looming
over her.
"Why?" Hermione asked him, unable to stand the niggling questions in her head
anymore. "Why did you fuck me?"
He didn't move a single muscle, his expression never changing as he stared her
down.
"Why did you let me?" he countered. "It was you who refused to leave, Granger.
It was you dusting kisses across my person and you on your knees, sucking my
cock. Why didn't you run the minute you saw me in my mask?"
"You were bleeding to death," she huffed.
"Sexual gratification does little to stop such things," he said. "I suggested
that you would regret it, and that you should leave. You said you didn't want
to. You instigated the exchange. What are your motives, Miss Granger?"
"I don't have any motives," Hermione sighed, leaning further back in her chair
and looking away from him. "I'm just a fool."
"You are intrigued," he said softly.
Hermione's cheeks flushed with heat, but she didn't deny it. She liked that he
said intrigued, rather than infatuated.
"The question, however, is whether you are intrigued by me, or by what I
represent. You hardly needed to seek out me for sexual release when Mr Weasley
seemed up to the task just fine over the summer. Is it the Dark calling to you,
Miss Granger?" he asked quietly.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders, unwilling to admit that she didn't rightly
know if it was him as a person, or something else that had ensnared her.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
"How long what?" she asked, frowning, her gaze meeting his once more.
"How long have you been intrigued?" he clarified. "When did you first notice
that you were paying more attention to me?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed, shocked by the question.
"Are you asking if I fancy you?" Hermione frowned.
"I'm asking when you began thinking of me as anything other than your teacher,"
he said carefully, his eyes searching her face. "Were you experiencing this
intrigue last year?"
Hermione frowned.
"I… don't know," she admitted, looking at her lap for a moment. "I suppose I
noticed certain things last year, but not in the same capacity. I never… not
like this."
"Would you say your intrigue sparked following your trip to the Department of
Mysteries in June?" he asked.
Hermione blinked, her eyes widening.
"You think this is the result of Dolohov's curse?" she asked, her eyes jumping
back to his face. "That was meant to kill me – to burn me from the inside, out.
That wasn't some spell to make me… I don't know… promiscuous enough to be
shagging my teacher."
"Dark magic always leaves a mark, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "You have no
scar, despite his curse. But you do have a newfound intrigue with Dark magic.
That I am currently the closest thing you've got access to that has known Dark
magic suggests that your intrigue is the result of his curse. Not because
anything about his curse was designed to make you crave me, but because once
you've touched Dark Magic, willingly or otherwise, it is an addiction you
cannot shake."
"But wouldn't that mean that someone like Harry should be drawn to Dark magic,
too?" she asked. "I barely survived that burning curse, but Harry survived the
Killing curse. Shouldn't he be drawn to Dark magic?"
"You think he isn't?" Severus raised one eyebrow. "He is a Parslemouth. He
finds trouble every year. His very soul was called into question during his run
in with Dementors. At this very moment he is likely tearing his dormitory apart
trying to find my Potions book because not only are my recipes allowing him to
pass Potions, he is also studying it, caught up in the enthrallment of reading
the spells in the margins. He reads it obsessively, doesn't he?"
Hermione frowned.
"According to Ron, yes. He reads it every night before bed, trying to decipher
your notes," Hermione nodded. "But he hates you. I can assure you, Professor,
Harry isn't harbouring any secret fantasises about seducing you."
"No, his fantasises are of seeing me suffer or watching me die. And that, Miss
Granger, is far more dangerous than sexual fantasies."
Hermione frowned, supposing he had a point.
"None of the others are drawn to Dark magic."
"Miss Weasley is," he replied quietly. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger, her
interaction with the Dark Lord's horcrux during her first year has done
irreparable things to her soul. She sees Madam Pomfrey every month for check-
ups to ensure she isn't slipping back into those dissociative states and she is
kept under close watch regarding the books she might check out of the library.
Her wand is checked weekly for Priori Incantatum to ensure she isn't practicing
Dark magic."
Hermione blinked in shock.
"I didn't know that," she whispered.
"No one does, except Miss Weasley, her parents, and the staff," Severus said
quietly. "Mr Weasley, Miss Lovegood, and Mr Longbottom are being watched as
well. Mr Weasley also sees the nurse about the effects of that brain that
attacked him in the Department of Mysteries."
"I knew about that," Hermione nodded. "But I thought they were just check-ups
to make sure it hadn't leeched too much of his magic. Am I being watched, too?"
"Not as closely as you should be," he shook his head carefully. "Pomfrey and
Dumbledore believe that the curse Dolohov used on you was only mild, else you'd
have died. They think that as there is no scar, and no disturbance in your
magical core, that your got away unscathed."
"You disagree?" Hermione asked.
"You magic is unscathed," he shook his head, eyeing her intensely in a way that
made her whole body quiver. "Your skin is unblemished. Physically, you have
suffered no lasting effects. However, you are the first person to have ever
survived that curse, Miss Granger. Dolohov has used it countless times and the
effects are less than pleasant and always fatal. Yet here you sit. Until you
didn't run from me on Thursday evening, you seemed untouched and unaffected by
the Dark magic."
"Wanting to shag you doesn't correlate to being drawn to Dark magic,
Professor."
"You only want to fuck me when I'm in the mindset of being a Death Eater, Miss
Granger," he pointed out quietly. "You had no interest at all in imagining
anything sexual with me whilst you were in class with your friends on Friday."
"You were eavesdropping on my thoughts?" she asked, annoyed.
"Do you deny that you have been looking longingly toward the Restricted Section
of the library, wanting to absorb the knowledge locked inside that is
considered too dark for students?" he asked, refusing to answer her.
"No," she admitted. "But I've been doing that since first year."
"Do you deny that you want to fuck me right now?" he asked, tipping his head to
one side, his gaze shrewd.
"No," Hermione whispered.
"Do you deny that after stealing this book to protect your friend, you paced
the castle and, despite your best efforts, found yourself outside my door once
again?" he asked.
"How closely are you watching me that you know that?" she wanted to know.
He smirked at her coldly, refusing to answer that question either.
"Do you merely crave satiation, Miss Granger, or are you interested in the Dark
magic that pulses under my skin?"
"Both," Hermione whispered.
"And have you ever felt the same allure to any of your other teachers or any
other person?"
Hermione's cheeks stained crimson.
"Does Remus count?" she asked.
"You've fucked Lupin?" he asked, stiffening, his lip curling in disgust.
"Of course not," she rolled her eyes. "But over the summer, before school
started, I certainly… erm… found myself craving his company."
"Wanting to fuck him?" Severus asked, eyes glittering dangerously.
Hermione frowned, thinking about it carefully.
"No," she said finally. "I did want to touch him, but not in a sexual manner."
"Drawn to the wolf, then," his mouth twisted, his eyes unfathomable. "As a
werewolf, he is a creature of the Dark, no matter his Light human soul. Were
you drawn to him in such a manner before June?"
"Yes," Hermione admitted. "Since first meeting him. I touched him on the train
in third year. I was sitting beside him, and our knees bumped. I could feel the
power under his skin."
"This urge has endured without you developing a crush on him?" Severus asked.
"I've never fancied Remus," she shook her head. "Sometimes I just have the
strangest urge to play with his hair or fiddle with his fingers, or to touch
his teeth – which even I admit, is odd."
"All the time when you are in his presence, or only sometimes?"
"Only sometimes. You think it's only when the wolf is stirring?"
"Perhaps," he murmured. "Though your intrigue prior to June is unusual. Most
people, before they have touched Dark magic, feel the urge to shy away from
werewolves in fear when they sense the wolf."
"Harry never shied away."
"Potter is scarred with the Dark and has been since infancy. He was also
exposed to the likes of Lupin during his mother's pregnancy and from almost the
first minute of his birth. His being drawn to Lupin is born of a familial bond
sparked by the wolf and passed from father to son when he was conceived."
"A pack bond?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"One of the only things preventing his seduction by the Dark, I expect."
"Does Remus know?"
"Of course, he knows," Severus rolled his eyes at her and Hermione wanted to
kick him. "He's a werewolf. He'd recognise a packmate in a heartbeat even if he
hadn't known Potter since birth."
"Then why am I drawn to the wolf?" Hermione frowned. "I have no pack bond with
him."
"You might, actually," Severus said quietly. "You recall your use of the Time
Turner on the night of Pettigrew's escape, I suppose?"
"When I howled to draw Remus away and keep him from attacking us?" Hermione
asked, her thoughts spinning with dizzying speed, trying to keep up with him.
"It is unheard of for a human to mimic a wolf-cry so accurately to lure a
werewolf from his chosen prey. Yet Lupin heeded your call. Have you ever
exchanged blood with Potter?" Severus asked.
"Now you're accusing me of blood magic?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Answer the question," he said.
Hermione thought hard.
"I might've," she said finally. "He gets injured so often, and we end up in
scraps so frequently. Our blood might've mingled when we were both injured at
some point."
"But you dislike Lupin as a man and have no interest in him. That's unusual if
you share a pack bond."
"I never said I disliked him. Remus is wonderful," Hermione argued. "I said I
don't want to shag him, but I didn't say I didn't like him. I'm very fond of
him. He's like a friendly uncle who wants to teach me about the world and keep
me safe."
"Urgh," Severus made a face of disgust, curling his lip. "You somehow have
recognised him as an Alpha, despite not being a werewolf? That is… unusual."
"Well, not if I've formed a pack-bond with him after creating a blood bond to
Harry," she argued, frowning. "But none of that is the point. Is there a way to
find out if I'm being seduced by Dark magic, or just by you?"
"Close your eyes," he instructed softly, and Hermione eyed him sceptically for
a minute, suspecting even that was a test.
Slowly, feeling like her heart was flipping about in her stomach, Hermione did
as she'd been told. She felt a flare of magic and Snape's presence directly in
front of her lessened. She held her breath as she waited, wondering what he was
planning, hoping she wouldn't open her eyes to something awful. For an
inordinate amount of time she sat there in front of his desk, her eyes closed,
her breath shallow, hoping against hope that he wouldn't do something to make
her terribly uncomfortable.
She began to think that he was simply testing her level of trust in him when it
reached the five-minute mark and Hermione bit her lip on the urge to ask if she
was allowed to open her eyes, yet. She didn't simply because she had the
feeling it was incredibly important to him to see if she really did trust him
enough to sit so long in his presence with her eyes closed when he could do
just about anything to her.
Finally, after what felt like hours, she heard him speak again.
"Open your eyes, Hermione," he said very softly, his voice coming from
somewhere behind her.
Hermione did so, blinking against the gloom of his office and rubbing her eyes
for a moment, unaccustomed even that faint light when she'd spent so long with
her eyes shut. Upon the desk before her was something that made her breath
catch in her throat. There were two jars resting upon the smooth surface, both
glittering with the magic contained within them. Neither was labelled. Both
magics gleamed bright green, sparkling and swirling, the magic contained within
giving no hint as to which was Dark magic and which was Light.
"Pick up the jar that you're most drawn to," Severus said quietly when Hermione
looked over her shoulder in his direction, raising her eyebrows at him. He was
leaning against the door that led back into his classroom, as though guarding
it. Hermione wondered if he felt the need to guard it against anyone invading
the room until she'd made her choice, or if he guarded it to prevent her escape
if she chose wrong.
"What if I'm not drawn to either of them?" she asked quietly, rising to her
feet and pacing a step forward, moving around the desk so that she could keep
him in her sights and still see the jars.
His lip twitched like he might smile.
"I'll call you a liar," he said. "Stop looking at me, and face the jars, Miss
Granger. Believe me, had I intended ill toward you, I'd have enacted any
nefarious plans while you had your eyes closed."
"I am facing the jars," she pointed out.
"You will get no hint from me about which is which," he said.
Hermione nodded, trailing her eyes back to the jars and feeling the strangest
urge to pick them both up at once. She couldn't tell them apart based on
colour. Carefully, moving closer, Hermione closed her eyes once more, holding
her hand in the direction of both jars and trying to feel the quality of the
magic contained within each one.
The one of the right seemed to pulse and throb, while the one on the left
seemed to glow and Hermione tilted her head, trying to think of her own magic
and how it worked. Pulling back slightly, she stepped away from the desk and
cast the Lightest spell she knew. Hermione didn't open her eyes as she cast her
Patronus, feeling the magic manifest and moving her hand toward the warmth it
seemed to emit, trying to feel it. She'd hoped for a clue, trying to figure out
if Light magic glowed or throbbed, and she opened her eyes slowly when she
found that her patronus did both.
Hermione blinked in surprise as she stared at the Patronus that had perched on
Professor Snape's desk, eyeing it curiously. It was sitting up and begging,
leaning toward her like it might sniff her.
It also wasn't an otter, as it had been when she'd last cast it. The little
creature eyed her curiously in return and Hermione watched Snape as he watched
her before turning her attention back to the Patronus in front of her. The jars
of magic hadn't moved, but she noticed that the patronus had shifted around to
put itself between her and the jar on the left. When she blinked at it, the
little creature stood and padded toward the jar on the right, sniffing at it
curiously. She was about to reach for that jar when the little thing bounded
toward the jar on the left and sniffed at that too, nosing at it like it were a
toy. She couldn't get a read on glowing over throbbing from the patronus. The
little creature seemed to do both and Hermione watched as it jumped off the
desk and bounded in Professor Snape's direction, stopping before him and
lowering into a play-bow, it's bushy tail wagging.
Hermione eyed the little fox, wondering what was going on. Her patronus, when
she'd cat it in the past, had always been an otter. It'd been playful and
flitted about her, chittering whenever she'd cast it. She'd never seen it
interact with anyone before, and she could think of no reason for the change of
its manifestation.
When Snape flicked his fingers at the creature, creating a little shower of
sparkles, the fox leapt up, snapping the stars of magic up before it
disappeared and Hermione frowned in confusion.
"Interesting," he said quietly, his eyes travelling to her once more. "But you
still have a decision to make, Miss Granger. Which jar do you want to pick up?"
"Both," Hermione whispered. "I want to play with both of them. I um… my
patronus is… um…"
"Pick up a jar, Hermione," he said sternly and Hermione frowned.
Realising he wasn't going to let it go, she did as she'd been told, picking up
the jar on the right and holding it carefully. Before he could move she frowned
and put it down again, picking up the one on the left instead. A thrill
whispered through her veins each time and Hermione set the left jar back down
as well, frowning at the desk. She moved around in front of it once more, not
wanting to see his face as she tried to figure out which one she wanted to pick
up the most.
Unable to decide, Hermione did something that was probably against the rules
for the experiment. Unscrewing the lids on both jars, she dipped a hand into
each one, touching the magic carefully.
"Mmmmm," she hummed, unbidden, tingles racing across her skin as the feel of
the magic titillated her senses. It was heady and thick, the jar on the left
seeming to curl around her like the warmth of drinking hot chocolate on a cold
day. The jar on the right fluttered and made her heart race inside her chest,
teasing along her skin like the trail of a feather over her cheek, the faintest
brush of a caress.
She could tell when she touched them, which was which. And she wanted both. She
wanted to wrap the magic around herself like a blanket. She wanted to toy with
it to see what she could create. She wanted to absorb the little balls of light
into herself and Hermione blinked her eyes open, wondering if that was
possible. She'd never seen anyone absorb magic before, but the Fusion they'd
created whilst shagging was surely the same concept. Brushing her own magic
against the balls of magic she held, Hermione focused, trying to weave her own
magic – which glittered a bright purple as it manifested – through the green
sparkles.
Just as she figured out how to do it, she felt the brush of a man's chest
against her back and Hermione didn't even think about it as she leaned her head
back against his shoulder. The glowing green magic curled around her wrists,
knotting with her own purple magic, seeping into her skin as she touched him,
and Hermione surrendered her weight to Snape's embrace feeling very much like
she might be ruining her knickers when the magic fused and dissipated beneath
her skin.
"You shouldn't have done that," Severus muttered, his lips by her ear, his
hands gripping the edge of the desk either side of her. Hermione hummed in
agreement, feeling almost catatonic in her euphoria as she leaned back against
his chest, trying to catch her breath.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus loathed the throb of his cock as the little witch leaned back against
his chest so trustingly, having just absorbed some of his magic. She was
definitely in danger, he decided. Perhaps she wasn't being seduced merely by
the Dark, as he'd begun to suspect, but neither was she immune to it. When
she'd cast her patronus, trying to distinguish between the two magics, he'd
wondered if perhaps the answer would be immediately clear. But even her
protector was drawn to both magics equally. And to him. That was unusual. When
she'd moved to be able to still see him as she made her decision, he'd wondered
if it was his presence she craved, but her intrigue with the magic was obvious
too.
"Severus?" she asked softly, breathless with the effect of absorbing his magic.
She leaned against him so easily, as though she hadn't recently fled from his
presence when he'd been so cruel to her. As though he weren't wicked and Dark
and just a little bit unhinged.
Severus loathed that his first name came so easily to her tongue. Its use put
him so quickly in the mindset of the Death Eater that it ought to be criminal.
Albus and Minerva might use his given name often, but it had been the Dark Lord
who'd coaxed him to its use after Lily's abandonment in his teens. Miss
Granger's use of it made him think torrid things in a way that even the Dark
Lord didn't, and he tightened his grip on his desk, determined to keep his
hands to himself this time. He wouldn't be seduced by her again.
"What did you hope to achieve with your Patronus, Miss Granger?" he asked
quietly, unable to talk himself into moving away from her and rounding his desk
to discuss the matter with her sensibly.
"I wanted to see if the feel of Light magic was different to that of the Dark,"
she murmured. "But it's… changed…"
"Your patronus?" he asked, alarmed. "Or the feel of your magic?"
"Both," she whispered. "It used to be an otter. And it used to feel like the
warm glow of a fireplace and the happiness of opening a new book. Now…"
She trailed off and Severus's knuckles went white, he gripped his desk so hard.
"Now it feels like that sweet burn of whiskey when it hits your stomach," she
went on, humming softly as though she were still caught in the throes of
pleasure.
"When did you last cast your patronus as an otter, Miss Granger?" he asked
softly, frowning, unsettled by the idea that it's shape had changed.
"Months ago," she shook her head. "Sometime before we went to the Ministry.
Before Umbridge caught us all and disbanded the DA."
Severus frowned.
"You've had no call to cast it since then?"
The little witch shook her head, turning her face slowly until her nose was
pressed to the side of his neck. He tensed as he felt her draw in a slow, deep
breath.
"You smell good," she whispered softly.
"You are intoxicated by the magic," he replied evenly, carrying out a mental
battle with his cock about the usefulness of its presence right at that
particular moment.
"Feels nice," she murmured, her lips brushing his skin.
Severus drew in a sharp breath when she suddenly nipped his throat gently
before nuzzling into him. Her hands slid the length of his forearms, her
fingers tracing the backs of his hands before knotting between his own fingers,
prying them from the desk and lifting them to curl around her snugly. He should
stop her. He knew it was bad form and immoral to continue debauching her as he
had been. He knew it was dangerous. There was a very real danger that they
would be caught, and he doubted the likes of Minerva, Albus, or her little
friends, would be forgiving if they learned he'd been fucking her.
Circe's cunt, he didn't even want to imagine the field day his fellow Death
Eaters and the Dark Lord would have to know he'd been fucking her. Some, like
Bella, would sneer over the filth of her blood status. Others, like Dolohov,
would surely see it for what it was; a terrible opportunity to fuck a pretty
young witch and thoroughly corrupt so pure a soul to the Dark. And Merlin knew
that if Severus put his mind to it, he could corrupt this little witch until
she was as entrenched in Darkness as Bella or Alecto, perhaps even as
entrenched as he was, himself.
He loathed that there was a large part of him that wanted to do just that. He
hated that so much of him wanted to lure her down this Dark path, seducing her
to the Dark Arts and transforming the bright, brilliant witch she was into
something terrible and Dark and utterly ruthless. He could do it. He knew he
could. He shouldn't, but he could. When she nipped his neck again, Severus let
his hands trail the length of her torso, gliding over the wool of her jumper
until he cupped her breasts through the fabric.
She arched into the caress, pressing her arse against his now-throbbing cock
and pressing her tits forward into his hands. The Dark magic she'd just woven
into herself called out to him, the rest of his magical core pulsing with the
urge to burrow beneath her skin, too, knitting back together with what she'd
taken and corrupting even more of hers. Severus tipped his head, giving her
better access to his throat and she took full advantage, kissing and nipping
his skin in a way that felt so utterly innocent, yet so sinful, he wanted to
groan. Massaging her breasts through her clothing, Severus closed his eyes,
fighting the urge to bend her over his desk and fuck her until his cock stopped
twitching.
Indeed, he was so enthralled in the feel of her magic and the battle he waged
within his own mind that he'd have missed the pulse of his wards were it not
for the bang of his classroom door as it was flung open. Hissing, Severus
dropped his hold on the witch, stepping back and guiding her down into the seat
in front of his desk. He rounded it quickly, ignoring Miss Granger's whine of
protest as he slipped into his office chair and regarded her over the table.
Just before she could open her mouth and protest his desertion, the door to his
office banged open so hard the wood splintered against the stone wall. Harry
Potter barrelled through the opening, his wand gripped in one hand and his map
in the other. Granger jumped, spinning in her chair, her own wand drawn
dangerously.
"Mr Potter, I would not recommend this course of action," Severus drawled,
glaring at the messy-haired wizard.
"What have you done to Hermione!?" Potter snarled.
"Done to me?" Granger asked. "Harry, I'm right here!"
Potter's eyes darted to his friend where she sat in front of Severus's desk,
his brow furrowed.
"What are you doing down here?" Potter asked, narrowing his eyes on her.
"Again?"
"I was returning Professor Snape's books to him," the girl answered, and
Severus almost laughed at the fact that she clearly meant the Potions book, not
his other texts that she'd dropped off earlier.
Potter opened his mouth, obviously confused, before his eyes fell on the only
book upon Severus's desk. The Potions text. His brow furrowed in recognition
before his lip curled.
"That's mine," he said, his eyes returning to his friend, burning with
accusation and betrayal the likes of which Severus hadn't seen since his fight
with Lily Evans in his fifth year.
"Actually, it's not," Granger replied.
"Really, Hermione?" Potter sneered. "You care so much about your grades in
Potions that you'd betray me like this? You raided my trunk?"
"Mr Potter," Severus interrupted waspishly before Granger could offer a
defence. "Sit down."
A flick of his wand tucked a second chair under Potter, knocking him off his
feet.
"I don't want to sit down. You stay out of this, Snape," Potter snarled.
"Hermione, how could you?"
"It belongs to Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione said evenly, folding her arms
over her chest. "He's the Half-Blood Prince. Those scribbles you've been so
enthralled by are his."
"Rubbish," Potter snarled. "I can't believe you'd report me like this over a
stupid grade, Hermione."
"Enough!" Severus hissed when the boy pointed his wand at the young witch.
"Miss Granger, would you mind waiting outside for a moment while I discuss this
with Mr Potter?"
Potter's eyes widened at his polite request of the girl and Severus watched the
witch climb to her feet, expecting her to vacate the office into the classroom.
Perhaps she wasn't as brave as he'd thought, or perhaps she was just cleverer
than he'd believed because despite being warned against it, and despite how it
would look, she didn't exit the office via the classroom. She walked around
behind his desk and let herself into his private quarters, instead.
Severus watched the way Mr Potter's eyes widened in shock before narrowing
suspiciously once more.
"Mr Potter," he drawled, not at all in the right mindset to treat the boy like
his student at that moment. Right now, he was the son of Severus's enemy and
his dearest friend. Right now, he was a boy walking a dangerous path, boiling
with an anger Severus recognised all too well. Part of him – the part that
still cared for Lily Evans – wanted to help him. Another part wanted to watch
the boy burn out and get what he deserved.
"What have you done to her?" Potter hissed coldly. "I know you're up to
something. If you lay a finger on her or hurt her in any way, I'll kill you
myself."
Severus hexed him.
Binding the boy to his chair, Severus rose to his feet, narrowing his eyes
dangerously and watching Potter's eyes widen to find that he wasn't in the
presence of a surly, cruel professor, but in the presence of a wicked and cold-
hearted Death Eater.
"You couldn't hurt a hair on my head, even if you tried, Potter," Severus
hissed coldly, digging his wand into the boy's neck and looming over him. "You
would do well to remember that though the Dark Lord might've given the
directive to all of his followers not to harm you, planning to slaughter you
himself, I am not merely his follower. I would gladly end your wretched
existence, Potter. Is that clear? Neither the Dark Lord, nor Albus Dumbledore
would be able to save you should I deem your death worth the rip to my soul."
Potter's eyes glinted with insolence, but he gulped.
"Now," Severus went on, leaning closer. "Explain to me how it is that you came
to be in possession of my property, Mr Potter."
"It's not yours," Potter bit out.
Severus snarled at him before diving into his mind, seeking the answers he
wanted. He found them with disgusting ease.
"Should've been practicing your Occlumency, Potter," he smirked when he
withdrew a scant few minutes later. "The Dark Lord would make mince-meat of
your thoughts and memories with glee."
"Why would he bother when you're around to do it for him?" Potter sneered.
"Why, indeed?" Severus smirked, and Potter's eyes widened again at the lack of
denial Severus offered for the lay of his loyalties. "This book, Mr Potter,
belongs to me. Your use of it is hereby terminated and you will notattack Miss
Granger over its return to me again. Do I make myself clear?"
"It's not yours!" Potter hissed.
"No?" Severus asked, straightening and raising his eyebrows. "Sectumsempra!"
Potter flinched as Severus flicked his wand at the chair beside the boy,
decimating it as though he'd taken to it with a sword. His eyes were wide with
horror when he looked from the chair to Severus once more. Potter gulped.
"It's a spell for enemies. You're embroiled in Dark magic, of course you know
it."
"Ulcusocculus," Severus hissed, aiming his wand at a toad corpse in a jar by
the desk.
Potter's face was ashen with horror as the toad's eyes boiled and exploded.
"Tell me, Mr Potter," Severus drawled. "How often have you found yourself
itching with the urge to try my spells? Maybe you thought you'd use the one
listed as 'for enemies' on Draco, hmm? Maybe you didn't care what it might do?
Maybe you're just burning with all that anger and rage that you can't control,
and you'd have let it slip out to devastate the school population. Wouldn't the
world be horrified to find out that their Chosen One is dabbling in Dark Magic?
Imagine their faces when you become a murderer."
Potter writhed against the bonds tying him to his chair.
"I've never dabbled in Dark Magic," Potter snarled.
Severus laughed, leaning down close to the boy, so close that Lily's green eyes
filled up his vision and their noses almost touched.
"You were forged in Dark Magic, Harry Potter," Severus told him icily. "That
scar upon your forehead isn't some empty remnant of a wound you suffered.
That's the signature of the Darkest magic known to wizardkind, emblazoned upon
your flesh for all to see. And every time it prickles, you find yourself
growing angry. You want to strike out at those around you. You take your rage
out on friends who deserve better than you. You itch with the urge to strike
out at me, and at Draco. You shout and destroy things and lose control of your
magic in a wild temper tantrum, all because you've been seduced by the
Darkness. You're an addict snarling with the need for that next hit. You want
it, don't you? You want to reach for those spells you don't understand. You
want to watch someone else bleed. You want to hear me scream."
"You deserve to scream and suffer and bleed," Potter snarled at him, his eyes
hardening to jade spikes that had once stabbed right through Severus when they
were worn by a pretty witch with crimson hair.
"You deserve better," Severus murmured, and Potter's jaw slackened, his mouth
opening in surprise as he blinked stupidly.
Severus searched his gaze for a long moment, the Death Eater in him that had
once been tied so closely to this boy's mother rising to the surface and
slipping free.
"You will not seek out this book, or any other like it again, Harry," Severus
said quietly. "You will not give in to the Darkness that so longs to claim you.
Your parents didn't die for you just so that you could throw away their
sacrifice and dabble in the Dark Arts."
"Don't you dare talk about my parents," Potter hissed. "You don't know anything
about them!"
"Don't I?" Severus asked, holding his gaze. "You've seen but a brief glimpse of
my memories featuring your parents, Potter. Do you think your father made me
the target of his boisterous pranks without reason? Do you think your mother
came to my defence – often to her own social detriment – for nothing? Did you
imagine him to be such a bastard, and her to be such a martyr as to do so
without reason?"
"You're a Death Eater. My father loathed you!" Harry snarled and Severus nodded
his head, conceding that point.
"He loathed me long before I became a Death Eater, Harry," Severus said
quietly. "Would you like to know why?"
Potter's watched him, looking tormented now, as though he'd suddenly recognised
that he was the mouse, not the cat, in their little stage-play.
"Your father made me his frequent and unrelenting target because of your
mother," Severus practically purred. "After all, what boy doesn't pick a fight
with those he sees as competition to win a witch's heart?"
"Don't you dare talk about my mother!" Potter hissed. "She'd never have even
looked sideways at you."
Severus laughed again and simply held Potter's gaze.
"Everyone says so, but no one knows quite like me that you really do have her
eyes, Harry," Severus told him quietly. "And I would know. There was only one
other wizard who spent longer looking into those eyes of hers."
"You're lying," Potter denied, shaking his head angrily, his jaw clenching and
his voice growing hoarse.
"Am I?" Severus asked, smiling wickedly.
He leaned back, scooping the text book from his desk and flipping to one of the
pages in the middle. Holding it open, he showed Potter the insignia he'd
scrawled foolishly one day in his sixth year even though Lily wouldn't even
look at him anymore. There, immortalised in faded black ink were the
initials S.S + L.E. They'd been scribbled out, but they were still there.
"How does it feel, Harry? How does it feel to know that all this time while
you've been mooning after your father's best friends, you've been vilifying and
loathing your mother's closest friend for the first sixteen years of her short
life?"
Potter roared at him, unintelligible sounds escaping the boy. He clenched his
eyes closed.
"You're lying! She'd never have been your friend!" Potter snarled vehemently.
"You require more proof?" Severus asked, raising one eyebrow. "I can provide
it."
He left the boy there tied to the chair, the page open to the inscribed page
upon his desk to torment him as he stalked into his private quarters. Miss
Granger stood just inside the door and Severus eyed her for a long moment while
she held his gaze.
"You're torturing him," she said softly.
"He deserves it," Severus retorted, crossing to his bookshelf and fishing an
old and faded photo album from the bottom shelf.
Granger trailed after him when he stalked back into his office. She didn't say
a word about Harry being tied to the chair and Severus took great delight in
opening the pages of the photo album and offering to them to the messy haired
child of his dead best friend. He opened it to a page that showed a picture of
him and Lily together in first year, wearing their opposing Slytherin and
Gryffindor school uniforms, arms around one another, grinning for the camera.
Potter blinked, looking like he didn't believe his eyes. Severus leaned against
his desk, propping the book open against his thigh and flicking it to the next
page. He didn't need to look to know each picture by heart.
"The summer between first and second year," he told the boy, his voice
emotionless, showing him a picture his own mother had taken of the two of them
sprawled on the living room floor in Spinner's End, sharing a book and a plate
of biscuits she'd baked while his father had been away on an extended business
trip.
"Second year at Hogwarts," he said, flipping the page again, never giving the
boy long enough to look, seeing the greedy way his eyes drank in the details of
his mother's childhood.
"Third year," Severus said, turning the page again, this time showing a picture
of Lily with her head in his lap, one of his hands playing with her long red
hair while they both gobbled Sugar Mice.
"Fourth year," he said, changing the page again, cinching the pain in Potter's
heart, showing a collection of pictures where Lily hugged him, kissed his
cheek, and even one where she'd kissed his lips.
"Fifth year, before Christmas," he said, his voice cold and unfeeling as he
flipped to the final picture he had of the two of them together. Lily was
huddled in his arms, his Slytherin scarf wrapped around her neck, her cheek
pillowed on his chest, both of them watching a Quidditch match from the drafty
top of the Astronomy Tower. "It used to drive your father spare that every
match against Slytherin, your mother supported Slytherin because she refused to
show any support for a team that featured James Potter."
Potter's eyes were wet and his jaw was clenched when Severus closed the book
with a snap.
"She can't have hated him all that much," Harry said coldly. "Ended up marrying
him instead of you, didn't she?"
Severus knew the boy wanted to hurt him, trying to strike out in his own pain,
but he was beyond the feelings of heartbreak and pain from Lily's desertion.
"Would you like to know why?" Severus asked the boy quietly, unsure why he was
sharing so much of his past with this ungrateful little brat, but needing to
do something to ensure he didn't give in the Darkness.
"Because he was a better man?" Harry sneered.
"Precisely," Severus shrugged. "Lily didn't like the Darkness I was surrounding
myself with. So much so that she eventually forgave James for everything he'd
ever done to the two of us and went on to marry him. Now you tell me,
Harry Potter, how do you think your mother would feel to see you dabbling in
the Dark Arts? After all, if she'd wanted a son raised to play with Dark magic,
you wouldn't be calling me 'Professor'… you'd be calling me 'Dad'."
Potter's eyes squeezed closed and tears slipped down his cheeks, a soft sob
tearing from his chest that might've clenched the hearts of lesser wizards.
Severus stood stoic, watching the teenager before him cry. Miss Granger brushed
past him when it became clear that he wasn't going to offer Potter any comfort.
She flicked her wand, vanishing the bonds that had kept the boy tied to the
chair, and she knelt before him, taking his glasses from his face and setting
them on the desk before wiping at his cheeks.
Severus looked on in silence as the little witch was pulled into Potter's
embrace, the boy forgetting his fury with her when he needed comfort. He wanted
to curl his lip at the pair of them and remind him that just a few minutes ago,
Potter had been ready to hex her. He even opened his mouth, intent on saying as
much, but before he could utter a single word, Granger curled one arm backward
and tangled her fingers with his.
He blinked, staring at the joined appendages and thinking about jerking away
from her. He'd long outgrown the need for things like sympathy or comfort and
despite his continued crusade against the Dark Lord in retribution for
murdering Lily, Severus had outgrown his love for the woman that had so pushed
him to join the cause in the first place. He didn't need to be held every time
her memory tormented him. He didn't need consoling over her loss. He'd driven
her away with his own actions, and he'd learned to live with that.
Yet, as Miss Granger held his hand, unafraid to touch him, even knowing just a
few of the sins his hands had committed, he felt some strange measure of
comfort. For the longest time she simply knelt there, holding Potter and
stroking his back gently, her free hand tangled with Severus's, until
eventually Potter pulled himself together and pulled away. Her fingers slipped
from between his own as she rose a little higher and stood when Potter released
her.
She stepped back when he reached for his glasses, briefly brushing against
Severus's front, before stepping aside and standing beside him.
"This changes nothing," Potter said thickly after clearing his throat. "I don't
care if you were best friends with my Mum. You're still a Death Eater and you
still made all the wrong choices."
Severus might've curled his lip at the boy's insolence if it weren't exactly
what he wanted.
"Fortunately, Mr Potter, I've no interest in garnering your respect or your
friendship. All I expect is that you will now understand why I will rip you to
pieces if I ever find you toying with Dark artefacts you don't understand or
using Dark spells that you've no business using. Your parents gave you a legacy
of better than that, and you will act like it. Is that clear?"
Potter narrowed his eyes on him for a long moment before he gave a single,
jerky nod.
"Good," Severus sneered. "Now get the hell out of my sight."
Potter didn't need to be told twice. He got to his feet and stomped for the
door, stopping only to look back for his friend.
"You too, Miss Granger," Severus muttered, nudging the girl with his foot where
Potter wouldn't see.
"But I…" she began to protest, obviously bursting with questions about her
magic and her patronus and a good many other things that he was in no mood to
discuss.
Levelling her the look he usually reserved for sneering down his nose at her
latest Potions attempt, he let her see that now was not the time for such a
discussion and she closed her mouth.
"Yes, sir," she muttered. "Thank you, sir."
She shuffled her feet a bit before brushing past him and following her friend
out the door. Severus watched her pull it closed behind herself and glanced
down at the photo album he'd dug from his shelves before snatching up one of
the jars on his desk and hurling it at the wall as hard as he could.
***** Chapter Nine *****
                                 Chapter Nine
===============================================================================
"My Lord?" Antonin Dolohov asked quietly, sneaking up behind him while Lord
Voldemort was peering out the window over the grounds, overseeing the
alterations that were being made to Selwyn Hall in preparation for Severus's
habitation.
"Antonin, my friend?" Voldemort smiled without turning to look at him.
"I have prepared the list, my Lord," Dolohov said fervently. "Shall I show it
to you, or would you prefer that I capture every witch on the list for your
inspection?"
"Let me see it," Voldemort held out his hand, and Dolohov slipped a fat scroll
of parchment inside it.
"This is Severus's?" he asked, surprised by the length of the scroll when he
unrolled it.
"Yes, my Lord. I was shocked, as well," Dolohov said.
"Ah," Voldemort chuckled. "You have included every witch he's ever fucked, even
those who were only passing attractions for a scant hour or less."
"That is the way of the spell, my Lord," Dolohov bowed deferentially, fearful
of retribution.
"Ah, yes. Alecto. Our dear, Bella. Narcissa, too? Really, Severus, does Lucius
know?" Voldemort chuckled to himself softly. "Perdita Parkinson. Astrid
Parkinson? Oh, Severus a mother-daughter dalliance? You rascal! Lily Evans, of
course. Nymphadora Tonks? Bella's niece, Severus, really? The man's taste is
positively eclectic!"
Lord Voldemort looked over at Dolohov, who was chuckling softly as his Lord
read the list aloud, muttering to himself in surprise.
"There are more that will shock you, my Lord," he said. "These are mostly older
dalliances most from before your fall, except Andromeda's girl."
"What about during my absence?" Voldemort asked, and Antonin shuffled closer,
trailing his finger down the list.
"Here," he indicated.
"Charlotte Entwhistle. Loretta Bulstrode. Alecto Carrow, again?"
"They're in order by date, my Lord. The oldest – Evans – at the top, and those
that followed. If he's shagged them more than once after dallying with another
and returning, their name reappears."
"So, he's gone back to Alecto a few times?" Voldemort confirmed. "What are the
strokes beside the names for?"
"They're a tally of how many times he fucks the same witch before moving on to
someone else. The tally begins again with each new witch. See here, Alecto's
got nine strokes by her name from when he was in Hogwarts and then he fucked
Cissy, and then Bella, and then Alecto again three times, see?"
"This suggests that Alecto is a favourite," Voldemort mused, scanning the list
for the names of witches he'd shagged during Voldemort's downfall and not
recognising any of them. Perhaps they were all muggles or mudbloods.
"Probably just that she's easy, my Lord," Antonin scratched his beard absently.
"My list is similar where the crazy bitch is concerned. If you're not in the
mood for chasing a witch, and just want a warm cunt to bury your cock in, she's
always up for it. Don't think I've ever heard her say 'no'."
"Better be careful, my friend. We wouldn't want you tied to her if you
impregnated her, now would we?" Voldemort taunted his follower.
"Salazar's rod, no, my Lord. Never that," Antonin muttered, paling
considerably.
"And what have we here, Cissy again?" Voldemort asked, raising one eyebrow and
looking up at Antonin. "Does Lucius know his best friend is fucking his wife?"
"Pretty sure he was the one encouraging it, my Lord," Antonin muttered. "Pretty
fucker swings both ways."
"And Severus agrees to it?" Voldemort asked, surprised.
Antonin shrugged his shoulders. "I ran one for blokes he's fucked, too. Lucius
was the only one on there, and it was an outdated entry. Might've been from
back when Snape was still burning out of control. Might be that Lucius talks
him into it, or blackmails him into it."
"Nevertheless, she is married with a teenage son, so she cannot offer what I'm
searching for in this endeavour. Ah, wait a moment. What's this?"
Lord Voldemort trailed his finger to the very bottom of the list where the
name Hermione Granger was carefully scribbled, accompanied by three strokes.
"Caught that one, eh?" Antonin murmured, his eyes glittering with malice as he
looked at the girl's name.
"Potter's Mudblood, no?" Voldemort confirmed.
"That's her, my Lord," Antonin nodded.
"The one who survived your curse in June. How very interesting. She is only in
her sixth year, no?"
Antonin nodded his head sharply, his jaw set.
"My, my, my, Severus, what have you been up to? Fucking one of his students?
Potter's little mudblood? Right under Dumbledore's nose? Oh, this is rich,"
Voldemort clapped his hands together in delight.
"This pleases you, my Lord?" Antonin asked, obviously disgusted that Snape had
been shagging a teenage mudblood.
"Oh, yes," Voldemort nodded. "Forget the others on the list. Bring me our dear
Alecto, and the Granger girl before Yule, Antonin."
"Gladly, my Lord," Antonin smirked, bowing once more and preparing to leave the
room, intent on his task.
"Alive, Antonin. I need them both alive and unscathed."
The Russian nodded, muttering in his native tongue as he set off intent on
capturing the witches in question.
"Oh, Severus," Voldemort traced the tip of his finger over his own lower lip,
talking to himself in the large, lavish drawing room of Selwyn Hall. "How you
do so easily and willingly play into my little games, my friend"
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Hermione had no chance to talk to Professor Snape alone following that Sunday
afternoon in his office when she'd barged in on him before Harry had
interrupted. He'd been avoiding her, she was sure. He'd been in an even fouler
mood than ever – stomping about the castle and taking so many House points
across all four houses that Gryffindor was in the negatives and the other
teachers were annoyed - but despite that, he had assigned all her detentions to
Madam Pince – who'd put her in charge of reorganizing sections of the
Restricted Section on Snape's orders.
She supposed she should've been grateful for the access it granted her to the
banned books, and though she'd been making use of it, Hermione found herself
wishing she'd be given another detention with Snape in his office, his
classroom, or even just his general vicinity. He wouldn't even look at her
after that day in his office and Hermione was left trying to figure out if he'd
distanced himself because of the way her patronus had changed, and acted, or
because of what she'd done with the Light and Dark magic. She wondered if he
was just embarrassed, having revealed that he'd once been dating Harry's mum.
Harry was still simmering over it, wandering around muttering over the notion,
beyond shocked and seeming not to believe it, despite the proof. He'd told Ron,
but then asked the two of them to keep the information to themselves. She
suspected he thought it would tarnish Lily's memory to have people recall or
discover that she'd dated Death Eater Severus Snape before marrying James
Potter. Hermione knew that in Harry's mind, his opinion and his ideas about his
mother had been forever altered.
He seemed lost, unsure how to reconcile this idea of his mother once dating a
man whom – to Harry – had no redeeming qualities and was an all-around bastard.
She'd encouraged him to reach out to Remus about it, knowing that if anyone
other than Snape could tell him about what had happened back then, it would be
Remus.
"Alright there, Hermione?" Ron asked her quietly the night before they were all
due to take the train home for Christmas.
Hermione looked up from her Defence essay to meet Ron's gaze, smiling.
"I'm fine," she nodded. "And you?"
Ron shrugged before glancing around the almost empty common room. Harry had
taken himself off to bed almost an hour ago, muttering about his mother again,
leaving the two of them to their homework.
"You busy?" Ron asked softly, and Hermione recognised the tone in his voice and
the awkward shuffle of his feet.
He wanted sex.
Hermione tipped her head to one side, tossing up whether she was in the mood.
She felt a bit like shagging anyone would be betraying Professor Snape, but the
minute she had the thought, Hermione realised what a fool she was. The man was
avoiding her. He was her teacher. He was her elder. He was obviously trying to
discourage her crush on him, and he'd likely appreciate the idea of her finding
someone else to see to her needs – he'd even said as much when he'd been inside
her head and found out about her and Ron in the first place.
"Want to take a walk with me?" Hermione asked quietly, making up her mind.
"Yeah," Ron nodded, his lips twitching a little.
"Let me put my things away," she said. "Two seconds."
Ron nodded, throwing himself down in the armchair by the fire while Hermione
put all her things back in her bag and ran it upstairs to her dormitory. She
felt a twinge of guilt when she spied Lavender sitting on her bed and
attempting to wrap a giant teddy-bear in Christmas paper, but she didn't let it
stop her. When she hurried back downstairs, Ron got to his feet and set off for
the portrait hole and Hermione followed him.
"Everything alright?" she asked him when they were three corridors away from
the common room and he still hadn't taken her hand or spoken a word to her.
"Yeah," Ron nodded, glancing at her for a long moment. "Listen, you don't have
to… you know… help me out, if you're not up for it, Hermione. We had a deal."
"I thought you were dating Lavender," she said quietly, taking his hand and
pulling him into an abandoned classroom. She used Severus's wards to lock and
barricade the room, watching Ron pace to the back of the classroom and back
again.
"Yeah… uh… I am," Ron said, frowning and glancing at her guiltily.
"Things aren't going well?" she asked curiously, noting how truly agitated he
seemed.
"Um… not exactly," Ron admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and continuing to
pace. "Listen, can I ask you something?"
"Anything," Hermione smiled. "You know I don't have secrets from you, Ron."
Ron's mouth twisted on what looked like a very bitter smile.
"I don't think either of us believe that, love," he said, chuckling even as he
paced the length of the classroom and back again. "But I appreciate the
sentiment."
"Ron, what is it?" she asked. "You haven't been this on edge since just after
the first time we ever snogged, when you thought that you'd bollocksed our
entire friendship."
"I know," Ron said, fisting handfuls of his hair.
"Whatever it is, just ask me, Ron. You're hardly going to shock me."
"Am I rubbish in bed?" he blurted.
"What?" Hermione asked. "Why would you ask that? Of course, you're not rubbish.
I mean, we were both a bit clumsy early on, but that changed with practice. And
we got a lot of practice over the summer."
Ron's lips pulled up into a genuine smile for a moment and he surprised her
when he took three quick strides to close the distance between the two of them,
claiming her lips in a soft kiss that almost made her melt.
"Are you sure?" he asked when he pulled back again, looking worried all over
again.
"I think I've shagged you enough times to know if you're any good at it, Ron,"
she told him. "Why? What's happened?"
"I um… bloody hell. So, me and Lav kind of agreed on a shag for Christmas, you
know? Get it out of the way and all that. And last night we snuck off – dunno
if you noticed?"
"How could I not when you were led away by the hand to a symphony of giggles
and you returned a while later with your shirt on inside out and sporting a
love bite?" Hermione asked dryly. "Even Harry noticed."
"Right. Well, yeah. I mean, we shagged," Ron said, sighing and dropping down to
sit on the desk opposite where she stood, running his hand through his hair
once more and looking confused.
"It went badly?" Hermione guessed, frowning and sitting across from him.
"Well… I don't know if I'd say it was bad," Ron frowned. "It was just… weird.
Awkward. Just, kind of off, you know?"
"Why?" Hermione asked. "Was there no spark? No attraction? Did she baby-talk,
during?"
Ron laughed. "She did actually, but I shut her up pretty quick. Likes to try
and talk with her mouth full, Lav."
"Charming, Ronald," Hermione laughed.
"Sorry. Too much detail. Anyway, there was spark and despite the chatter, that
was alright… it just… it wasn't… I don't think she… um…"
"She didn't orgasm?" Hermione guessed again.
Ron sighed.
"I don't think so. I think she faked it," Ron admitted, puffing out his cheeks.
"You never faked it, right?"
Hermione smiled and shook her head.
"Faking it would've just encouraged bad behaviour," she told him. "But just
because I like certain things doesn't mean that any other witch will, Ron.
We're all different. There are things you like that the other wizards I've been
with don't."
Ron paused.
"Wizards, plural?" he asked, frowning at her. "I thought it'd only been me and
Krum for you?"
Hermione smiled at him. "Just because I'm not so obvious as to giggle while
dragging a boy away by the hand doesn't mean you're the only one getting laid,
Ron," she said.
"Who?" he asked, frowning.
Hermione shrugged. "Does it matter? I won't be doing it again."
"That bad at it, was he?" Ron asked, and Hermione would swear she caught the
faintest hint of jealousy in his tone but she let it slide.
"That good, actually," Hermione said quietly. "Some people are a bit like
caramel pie. Something you crave once in a blue moon, but not something you'd
be able to enjoy every single day without feeling ill."
"I could eat caramel pie every day," he told her.
Hermione laughed.
"For you, this person would be the equivalent of Fleur's quadruple chocolate
parfait," Hermione told him.
"Oh," Ron said, frowning. "Yeah, I couldn't eat that every day."
"Exactly."
"Who was it?" Ron asked curiously, unlikely to let it go. Hermione almost
wished that she hadn't mentioned it.
"I'm keeping this secret for a while longer," she told him quietly. "It's still
a bit fresh."
"You were dating someone, and you didn't tell us?" Ron asked, frowning now.
"No," Hermione shook her head. "Just… um… just sex."
Ron eyed her for a long minute in silence, trying to read her, trying to figure
out who it could've been.
"If you've been shagging Snape like Harry accused, I might cry, Hermione," he
said shrewdly.
"That's where your mind goes when I suggest quadruple chocolate parfait?"
Hermione scoffed, her heart skipping a nervous beat.
Ron laughed. "Right, so that was a bit of a silly suggestion, but I want to
know who's had their hands on my girl."
"We agreed that I wasn't your girl. Just your toy," Hermione said.
"You're not a toy, Hermione," he shook his head. "You're just too much witch
for me. I need someone simple who can't outsmart me when we fight."
Hermione grinned. "Why am I here, then? I hardly think Lavender would be
pleased to hear that the boy she shagged last night is kissing his best friend.
You haven't told her about us, have you?"
"We promised not to," Ron shrugged. "And I just… She faked it, Hermione. And I
needed to make sure I wasn't rubbish at it."
"Well, you're not," she said, tipping her head to one side, regarding him
carefully. He eyed her in return and Hermione recognised the look in his eyes.
He wanted to shag her again; always the boy with something to prove.
Guilt nipped at her psyche to think that were their places reversed, she'd be
hurt if Lavender were to shag her boyfriend. It scalded across her senses, too,
that Professor Snape would probably never touch her again if she was shagging
one of her friends when she couldn't shag him.
Hell, for all she knew he was off shagging someone else, himself. They weren't
committed to each other and there were a million reasons she needed to forget
Severus, anyway. Maybe Ron could help her forget.
He must've recognised the gleam in her eyes because he slipped off the desk
across from hers and invaded her personal space once more, standing between her
legs as they parted to accommodate him. He slid his hands into her hair and
Hermione reached for him hungrily, her lips tingling with the urge to be
snogged senseless. Closing the distance between them, Hermione knotted her
hands in his soft red hair and kissed him hotly.
He groaned as he kissed her back, his hands sliding over her shoulders and down
her back, grinding her against his erection. Hermione let herself get lost in
the moment and the sweet sensations pulsing through her under his familiar
touch. She pushed away the guilt about Lavender and Severus. She pushed away
her worries about Harry, and Ginny, and the war, and her parents. All summer
long she'd lost herself in the feel of Ron's lips and Ron's arms. It was
entirely too easy, there in that chilly classroom, to lose herself one more
time.
They peeled each other out of their clothing in a flurry of groping hands and
clumsy kisses and Hermione laughed when he thrust inside her, her eyes closed
as she simply lived in that single moment. He kissed her neck, suckling the
sensitive flesh and leaving a mark, but when he met her eyes as he took her, he
was grinning. She knew, on some level, that he loved her, and that she loved
him in return. He was easy, most of the time. Easy to get into bed. Easy to be
with. Easy to make smile. Easy to understand. And easy to please.
Tonight, she needed that. Ron needed it, too, and he took his time plucking the
strings of her pleasure just to see what little sounds he could coax from her
lips. She knew he loved it when she was vocal, moaning or sighing, or even
muttering profanity sometimes, as he was wont to do.
When she raked her nails down his back, arching under him and whimpering her
completion, Ron gave a triumphant little chuckle, increasing his pace until he
grew jerky, and following her over the edge shortly after. The cold floor of
the classroom bit into her flesh when he collapsed on top of her, but Hermione
didn't mind. It almost made her feel more alive, more in the moment.
"Why is being with you so easy when it comes to sex, but so complicated in
every other way?" he asked, rolling off her to lay beside her, panting.
"Because we trust and love each other enough to completely let go when we're
shagging," Hermione told him, "but the rest of the time we're at odds over
opinion, or a million other things about life that can't just be solved with a
hot kiss and a quick shag."
"Smarty-pants," he accused.
Hermione smiled, laying her head on his chest and letting him hold her close
for a few minutes.
"So, it isn't like that with Lavender?" she asked finally when she got cold
enough to reach for her clothes once more.
"She's complicated in bed," Ron muttered. "Everything else with her is easy. I
haven't got to worry about big words or being outsmarted in a fight. But in bed
she's just… not unresponsive… just not you, I guess."
Hermione chuckled.
"If only you could meld the two of us together, eh?" she teased.
"Merlin, I'd pay to see that," he told her, pulling his shirt on and leaning
against the wall, tugging her back to lean against him. "And your mystery
bloke? Is he easy, or complicated?"
Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and resting against her best friend, liking
the way he played with her fingers absently.
"Complicated," she whispered. "So bloody complicated that he makes Harry look
easy."
"And I'm supposed to believe it's not Snape?" Ron scoffed.
Hermione hesitated, biting her lip with indecision before doing as she'd always
done and blurting her secrets to Ron.
"What if it was?" she asked quietly.
Ron stilled, tilting his head to one side to meet her eyes.
"Is it?" he asked, his voice lowering.
Hermione didn't answer immediately, hoping he might tell her what he'd think if
she were to admit that she'd fucked Snape.
"Aw, Hermione," Ron sighed, shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to the
top of her bare shoulder. "Really? I… really? Why? What could possibly attract
you to someone like him? He's wretched in looks and personality, love. Wicked.
Dark. Twisted. Cruel. Ugly. You need someone better than that, love. Gods, if
you want to push the age bar that much and you want someone clever like you, at
least go for someone decent like Remus, yeah? Someone who won't sell your soul
to whichever master says jump."
Hermione's eyes filled slowly, her gaze blurring at Ron's lack of hostility. He
wasn't angry with her. He wasn't judging her. He was just worried for her well-
being.
"That's all you've got to say about it?" she asked.
"You actually shagged him?" Ron asked. "He's our teacher, Hermione. Do you know
what they'd say about you and how they'd doubt your good grades if they knew?"
Hermione nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"I know," she said. "I know. It's ridiculous and stupid and Harry would kill me
if he knew… but I just…"
"You fancy him?" Ron asked quietly.
"I don't know," Hermione said helplessly, her secrets spilling from her lips,
unchecked. "Sometimes I hate him as much as Harry does, but other times I just
want to get closer, you know. I like listening to him talk, and he's really
clever, even if he is a total arse about it, and I just…"
She trailed off, unable to explain how alluring she found Snape to be, and Ron
chuckled very softly.
"You sound like me when I try to rationalise what I see in Lav," he told her.
"And I know you've held your tongue on her less that pleasing attributes, so if
you're actually serious that you've been shagging Snape, I won't judge you,
love. But you've got to know that this can't end well."
"I know," Hermione nodded, turning her face into his neck and breathing in his
scent, like freshly mown grass and spearmint toothpaste. "It's stupid. I'm a
complete fool. I should never have… and well, I know that he thinks it was
stupid, but it's done and there's no way to take it back."
"True," Ron said. "I just… Really? Snape?"
Hermione laughed just a little, a hiccup of sound escaping her.
"Yeah," she sighed. "Snape. Really. I don't even… I can't explain it. He thinks
it's a result of Dolohov's curse – my interest in him and my growing intrigue
with the Darker side of the magical world."
"You disagree?" Ron asked quietly.
Hermione nodded. "I've always craved knowledge for the sake of knowing
everything. I spend an inordinate amount of time peeking into the Restricted
Section and researching branches of magic that, these days, are considered
Dark. I just want to know things. I always have. My interest in 'Dark' magic
was a natural progression from what I've already learned."
"And Snape?" he asked.
Hermione shrugged.
"I don't know. I like his voice. And I like watching his hands when he's
preparing ingredients in class. And I kind of like how horrid he is,
sometimes."
"Masochist," Ron accused, shaking his head and dropping a kiss to the top of
her head. "I really hope you're going to tell me that you're joking, and you've
just been shagging someone less awful, like… I don't know… Cormac or Malfoy or
something."
"Things would be easier that way, wouldn't they?"
"Well, maybe with Cormac. We could just torment you for having rotten taste and
that'd be that. Malfoy would almost be as bad. He's a Death Eater too, you
know? You get that part, right? Snape might be a spy for the Order, but he's a
Death Eater, too. He was a Death Eater, first. He's done bad things, Hermione."
"I know," she whispered. "I've seen his Dark Mark."
"Ew. You've seen the greasy dungeon bat naked. Should I get you some eye-bleach
for Christmas?" Ron asked, making a face.
Hermione swatted him.
"He's quite nice to look at once you get past all those buttons," Hermione said
quietly, and Ron groaned.
"If you start sharing about how fit you think he is, I'm going to tell you
things about Lav," Ron warned her. "Like, she's got this really cute little
freckle on her…"
"Arse," Hermione finished for him. "I know. I've seen that, too."
"If you tell me you've been hooking up with my girlfriend on the sly, Hermione,
I'm probably going to beg the two of you to put on a show for me. Know that
before you explain when you saw her arse."
"First of all, gross," Hermione told him. "As if we'd let you watch? Second of
all, I've seen it because she and Parvati parade around the dormitory in their
knickers all the time. And besides, considering how frosty she's been to me
since she started dating you – believing that she stole you away from me – I
don't think she'd be thrilled by any suggestion of a threesome, Ron."
"Pity," Ron grumbled.
"I don't imagine she'd be thrilled if she could see us right now, either,"
Hermione said. "If you're actually serious about dating her, you can't keep
sleeping around on her, you know?"
"Says the girl shagging Snape. Merlin's beard, he'll murder me if he finds out
about this," Ron said, paling.
"He would not," Hermione rolled her eyes. "He'd probably be relieved that I'd
seen the Light and forgotten about shagging him in favour of someone my own age
whose less likely to get me killed or scorned for eternity."
"How did this even happen?" Ron asked. "I mean, it's Snape. Is he… bloody hell,
he's not in the habit of seducing students, right?"
Hermione rolled her eyes again.
"I think it's safe to say that I'm the exception."
"You are pretty amazing. I make all kinds of exceptions for you," Ron agreed,
grinning and Hermione pecked him on the lips, smiling.
"Thank you," she laughed. "But, no. He's probably never shagged a student
before me. He… um… he was pretty badly injured when he came back from a meeting
and I healed him – it's why I was so late and why my Bruise Salve got ruined.
He was a bit drunk, and fairly immersed in his Occlumency shields. I had to
talk him out of them and he's…. different when he's in the Death Eater mindset,
as opposed to the teacher mindset. It just kind of happened. I had to strip him
to keep him from bleeding out and, well, then he was naked, and I was horny
and… well, now I've shagged Professor Snape."
Ron shook his head.
"You realise that if I just came out and announced I'd shagged McGonagall or
something, you'd flip."
"Professor McGonagall is in her sixties, Ron," Hermione reminded him, wrinkling
her nose. "Severus is only thirty-six."
"Oh, now it's Severus?" he teased and Hermione blushed.
"Shut up," she swatted him. "Let's just talk about something else. Like your
anxiety over Lavender faking it."
"Hit a guy when he's down, Hermione," Ron muttered, though he was chuckling.
"What do you have to be down about? I just shagged you silly."
"Yeah, but you've been shagging Snape," Ron said, looking ill at the very idea.
"Maybe we should both see the nurse. Merlin knows what he might have."
"He's a Potions Master and he stocks the hospital, Ron. If he
ever had contracted anything, he'd have cured it himself."
"Comforting," Ron snorted.
"Tell me about Lavender. I don't want to talk about Snape anymore.'
"Because he's a greasy old git hitting on a girl less than half his age," Ron
muttered. "What do you want to know about Lav? You live with her. You probably
know more than I do."
"What makes you think she faked it?"
"She screamed, Hermione," Ron grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Like,
a really put-on, I'm-trying-too-hard, kind of scream. Nearly scared me half to
death because up until then she'd given maybe one little moan and then she just
screamed like maybe she just wanted it to be over."
"Not everyone is comfortable being vocal, Ron. Maybe the scream slipped out
because she couldn't help it."
Ron eyed her. "Love, I've felt you clenching and pulsing around me enough to
know how it feels when a witch is coming. There wasn't any pulsing. Just a
random scream."
"Maybe not enough foreplay?" Hermione frowned.
"I used my fingers for at least ten minutes, and my mouth for fifteen before I
even unbuttoned my jeans, Hermione," Ron sighed.
"Oh. Well, I don't know, maybe she was overthinking it too much. Was it her
first time?"
"This is Lavender, Hermione," Ron scoffed. "She's been shagging around since
fourth year."
"Maybe she hasn't," Hermione shrugged. "Maybe the rumours were all just
stories. No one would believe you if you told everyone I was a tart who slept
around with the likes of Viktor Krum, and you, and Professor Snape. Maybe no
one wants to believe she was a virgin because she's such a flirt."
"You think so?" Ron asked, frowning. "Shit. What if I hurt her?"
Hermione shrugged. "Everyone hurts a little the first time," she offered. "But
if you're really worried about it, you should talk to her."
"How am I meant to do that when I'm sitting here smelling like you?" he asked.
"Try showering," Hermione teased. "I know it's a foreign concept for you, but I
promise it won't kill you."
"Witch, I'll shower you," he muttered, his hands finding the back of her neck
and pulling her close so he could steal another kiss from her lips. Hermione
kissed him back softly, nibbling his bottom lip lightly and smiling as she
pulled away. "We're rubbish people for this, you know?"
Hermione nodded.
"I know. But it's just a fling with Lavender, right?"
"Is it just a fling for you and Snape?" Ron asked rather than answering.
"A fling that's already over, I'm afraid," she sighed. "He won't even look at
me."
"Git."
Hermione snorted.
"You've been holding that in, haven't you?"
Ron nodded. "He's a right foul git who'll rip your heart out and try to feed it
you. He's rotten to the core and he's got no right to be laying a finger on my
girl. I make no promises not to hex him stupid, and not to blacken his eye."
"You know he'd out-duel you in a heartbeat and he'd probably hit you back,
don't you?" she asked.
"It'd be worth it in defence of your honour," Ron assured her.
"Except that all mention of it would mean he'd know I told you we'd been
shagging and then he'd try to murder me," Hermione pointed out.
"Well, yeah, but I'd get to punch him," Ron grinned.
"You know Harry will have a cow if he ever finds out?" Hermione sighed.
"Harry would have kittens if he knew about us, Hermione," Ron laughed, helping
her up when she went in search of her jumper, getting cold as the flush of
their exertions wore off.
"He'd have an entire menagerie if he knew about Severus," Hermione muttered.
"Everyone would, love. Look, it's not my place to tell you who to shag, but
Snape's bad news. There's a reason everyone in the Order hates him, and any
association with him would paint you with the same brush. You've shagged him,
and that's that. If it's done, let it be done. If it's not… well… maybe keep it
as close to your chest as you can and don't let anyone else find out, yeah? I'm
taking most of your secrets to my grave, and this one can be tucked into my
pocket, too. I don't want to shame you or anything, Hermione, I just don't want
to see the looks people would give you if they knew."
Hermione sighed, nodding her head in agreement.
"I wasn't planning on telling anyone else," she said.
"Wouldn't mind keeping this a secret, too, would you?" He asked, waving his
hand between them as he pulled his jumper back on over his head.
"I could be persuaded," Hermione smiled wickedly.
"I've already shagged you into submission," Ron laughed. "What else do you
want?"
"I'm fairly sure my silence could be bought with a back rub," she grinned and
Ron laughed.
"Yeah, that'd go a long way to keeping this a secret if I just peeled you out
of your clothes and started running my hands all over you."
"I never said it had to be a public show," Hermione smirked. "What are you
doing now?"
"Sneaking you up to my bed when we get back to the common room?" he suggested,
grinning.
"And have Harry catch us?"
"He's seen me give you a back rub before," Ron reminded her, recalling the
summer when she'd had the worst PMT of her life and Ron had taken pity on her.
"You know, sometimes you're very clever, Ronald Weasley," she said.
"Always the tone of surprise," he laughed in return, holding still when she put
her hands on his shoulders and jumped onto his back, insisting on a piggy-back
ride back to the common room.
He carried her the whole way back and the Fat Lady eyed them like they'd gone
mad as he carried her inside. The common room was deserted when they crossed it
and Ron didn't balk even once before carrying her up the stairs to the boy's
dormitories and over to his four-post bed. Around them, Dean and Seamus had
both pulled their curtains, while Neville snored on with his curtains wide
open. Harry's were partially drawn, and he was tossing and turning in bed,
muttering something too low to hear, but obviously fast asleep.
"Is he always like this?" Hermione asked of Ron as she eyed her other best
friend carefully.
"These days?" Ron sighed. "Usually he's worse. Keeps the lads awake, most
nights. He curses a lot in his sleep, and hisses away in parslemouth. Sometimes
I can settle him, but other times he jolts awake in a cold sweat and looks
ready to kill someone until he recognises me."
He crossed the small space between his bed and Harry's, putting a comforting
hand on Harry's shoulder and stilling the other boy. Hermione perched on the
edge of his bed too, smoothing her hands through his hair and noting the way he
slowly relaxed.
"Helps if I push my magic at him, sometimes," Ron told her quietly, rubbing his
hand in a circle over Harry's back and focusing intently.
"You have the same magical core as Harry?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at
him.
"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Figured it out one day last year during a DA meeting. He
was adjusting my grip on my wand to cast my patronus and our magic channelled.
I think it spooked him a bit, having no idea what it was. I couldn't think of a
way to explain it without making it sound like we were soulmates or something."
"What is your core?" Hermione asked curiously, never having found out before.
During sex their magic tended to brush, but nothing like what she'd done with
Snape had ever occurred.
"Fire," Ron told her, shrugging his shoulders. "Same as Harry. Both got a
temper, see? Do you know what you are? Always thought you must be fire, like
us, but we've never done any combined casting or transference."
"You know about all that stuff?" she asked, surprised.
"I'm a pureblood, Hermione. I learned that stuff in my crib," Ron said. "Mum
and Dad might not have been able to afford anything fancy for us kids, but they
could make sure we knew all about our magical world and the history of our
race."
Hermione nodded slowly, feeling the flare of magic pass from Ron and into Harry
though she couldn't quite touch it.
"I'm ice," she whispered, smiling sadly.
"Really?" Ron frowned. "That's really rare, Hermione. No wonder you and me are
so explosive, eh?"
Hermione nodded, smoothing her hand through Harry's hair one more time and
watching the way he relaxed with the feel of Ron's magic woven against his own.
"I had no idea," she told him. "I um… there was a bit of an incident when I
was… you know… with, erm… you know… and then I looked it up."
"He's ice, too?" Ron asked. "Blimey. How's that for luck, eh? Come on, love.
Into bed and get your shirt off. I believe I owe you a backrub."
Hermione smiled, noting that he looked a bit uncomfortable to have her know he
was weaving his magic with Harry's to help him sleep easier, and to know she'd
transferred magic with Snape. Crossing back to Ron's bed, she pulled her jumper
off over her head and ditched her jeans before crawling into his bed. Ron was
grinning at her as he pulled the curtains most of the way closed, leaving a
small gap so that he could keep an eye on Harry through them, lest he stirred
again.
"Shirt off," he whispered, tapping her side.
"And have the rest of the boys see me topless when I fall asleep, during?"
Hermione asked.
"Spoil sport," Ron muttered. "Fine, but at least lift it. You'll get cream on
it if you don't."
"You have cream?" Hermione asked before making a face over what he might use it
for.
"Don't give me that look, it's Heat Cream for aching muscles from quidditch,"
he told her.
"Sure it is," Hermione teased, pulling her shirt up as far as she could.
Ron unhooked her bra and she wriggled around to pull it off before settling
back down.
"Trust me, it is. The last thing you want to do is get anything with this kind
of burn anywhere near your privates, love," he told her, putting a big dollop
of the cream on her back.
The instant warmth made her think he was telling the truth and she hummed in
appreciation when he straddled her bum and used both hands, working the cream
into her skin carefully, taking his time about it and positively spoiling her.
"You're too good to me," she told him softly over her shoulder as sleep nestled
up to her, wanting to claim her. Ron chuckled, leaning forward and stealing a
soft kiss from her lips.
"Someone's got to be, what with your rubbish taste in men," Ron told her.
"I fancied you for ages before this happened, you know?" Hermione reminded him.
"You still fancy me," Ron teased. "You just don't know what to do with me when
you start lecturing me on something and I give you my puppy-dog look because
half the words are going over my head. If you could just learn to use smaller
words, we'd be amazing together."
"Aside from the fighting, obviously," Hermione smiled.
"Well, obviously," Ron told her. "But smaller words could help there, too."
"And your obsession with Quidditch chatter that goes over my head?" she asked.
"Well, I could learn to talk about other things some of the time if you could
see your way clear to talking Quidditch with me a bit," Ron said.
"Compromise, you think?" she teased.
"As though we aren't both too stubborn for that," Ron chuckled, shaking his
head and working his thumbs into the little dimples on her lower back, making
her pelvis ache in the best way and releasing so much of the tension there that
she could just drift right off to sleep.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
When she did drift off, Ron continued working his hands up and down her back
until all the cream was rubbed in. He watched her sleep, feeling the familiar
twist of affection and protectiveness stirring inside of him. Her wild curls
were loose and tangled, partially covering her face. He used a quick cleaning
charm on his hands before climbing off her and pulling her shirt down once
more. Stripping out of his jeans and his jumper, all the way down to his
boxers, Ron shuffled her over carefully, shaking his head fondly when she
grizzled.
As soon as he was tucked in beside her, he pulled the covers over both of them,
curling his arms around her snugly and holding her close. He brushed his magic
along the length of hers while she slept, smiling at the familiar feel of his
favourite witch. Peering at her through the dark, Ron watched the way the puff
of her breath stirred her curls and he pressed his lips to her forehead
carefully.
He didn't for a single second like the idea that she'd been shagging Snape.
He'd accepted that as much as he loved her, they weren't right for each other,
but he didn't think someone like Snape was right for his girl, either. His girl
needed someone strong and dedicated. Someone clever and unafraid of her when
she lost her formidable temper. She needed someone who would give her back rubs
and tuck her into bed at night and hold her close. She needed someone who would
remind her to eat when she got distracted by a good book; someone who would
bring her a fresh pot of tea without being asked; someone who'd fix her
breakfast the way she liked – with the crispy bacon and the barely cooked toast
and entirely too much sauce to be healthy.
Snape wasn't that bloke. He was the kind of bloke who'd sneer at her when her
hair was a nest and she couldn't find her bookmark because it was tangled in
her curls. He was the kind who'd make her feel two feet tall on days when she
was already down, thinking she needed to be cut back to size when she got too
big for her britches and started lecturing everyone like she knew more about
magic than they did. He was the type who'd get her killed, or let her be
seduced by the Dark arts. He was the kind who'd break her spirit just to watch
her crumble, and Ron didn't know how he was going to do it, but he was going to
keep the greasy git away from her.
He'd just have to figure out a way.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus eyed Lucius Malfoy over the rim of his whiskey tumbler, watching the
blond wizard slowly imbibing enough whiskey to drown a House Elf. His worry for
Draco was evident in every line on his once handsome face. The boy would be
returning for the holidays tomorrow and Lucius feared the Dark Lord would kill
him for failing thus far in his task to murder Dumbledore.
Severus was worried too, if he was being honest. The boy continued to refuse
his help and Severus doubted the Dark Lord would be merciful.
"Have you been helping him, Severus?" Lucius asked, slurring just a little.
"Draco continues to refuse all offers of assistance, Lucius. What would you
have me do? The boy no longer trusts me."
"You need to help him," Lucius muttered. "You're his godfather."
"And you're his father. What are you doing to help him, other than drinking
yourself into a stupor and timidly stammering in the Dark Lord's presence?"
"How dare you speak to me like that in my own house!" Lucius hissed, ever an
angry and irrational drunk.
"Ignore him, Severus," Narcissa said softly when Lucius leapt to his feet and
stomped across the room to fetch another decanter of whiskey, apparently too
drunk to recall how to use his wand.
"Yes, ignore me," Lucius muttered. "Just like she does."
Narcissa rolled her eyes.
"Bet you wouldn't want to keep ignoring me if I suggested we both fuck Severus
again though, would you, Cissy?" Lucius sneered, stalking back with more
whiskey and handing the entire decanter to Severus before perching on the edge
of his armchair.
Severus eyed the blonde witch, who was making a face of annoyance at her
husband, while Lucius reached out and tangled his fingers into Severus's hair.
"Perhaps another time, Lucius, darling," Narcissa said, catching the way
Severus stiffened at being touched. "When you're a little more alert to
properly enjoy it."
"I'll enjoy it plenty now, thank you very much," Lucius drawled and Severus
sighed when the bastard pulled his hair a little too hard for comfort. Subtly
aiming his wand, he caught Lucius in the ribs with a Stunning spell, sending
him sprawling to the floor, unconscious.
"Well," Narcissa sighed. "I do wish my husband would stop making such an utter
arse of himself. I actually wouldn't have minded an evening of carnality."
Severus's smirked at her.
"Have you ever minded an evening of carnality, Cissy?" Severus drawled wickedly
and she blushed.
"I forget, sometimes," she said softly, tipping her head to regard him with a
little smile on her face. "When you're all so caught up in pleasing the Dark
Lord, I tend to forget just how wicked your tongue can be, Severus Snape."
"Too bad he got drunk, or I'd provide physical evidence of my tongue's full
repertoire of skills," Severus replied.
"Don't tease me, Severus. I'm of half a mind to tell him he simply blacked out
and forgot, if you're willing to play along?" Narcissa flirted in return,
tracing one long fingernail along her crimson lower lip and eyeing him
hungrily.
Severus eyed her in return, feeling none of the past ardour he'd enjoyed when
she looked at him like that. It had been years since he'd been invited to bed
with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy – not since before Draco started at Hogwarts,
he was sure - but he recalled that when he had been, he'd thoroughly enjoyed
the witch. Sipping from his whiskey glass carefully, Severus clenched his free
hand around his wand, frustrated by the thought that perhaps his lack of
interest stemmed from recent encounters with a certain curly-haired menace.
"I am always willing to play along with any of your brilliant ideas, Narcissa,"
Severus purred, downing the rest of his drink in annoyance and planning to fuck
the pretty witch three was from Sunday until he forgot all about the taste and
feel of Miss Granger.
Narcissa giggled, rising gracefully to her feet. "Well, now I just feel like
Christmas has come," she flirted.
"I don't know about Christmas," Severus drawled in reply, "But you certainly
will."
Narcissa giggled again, giving a little quiver of excitement as she crossed the
sitting room to take him by the hand, intent on leading him down the hall and
into the master bedroom. Severus flicked his wand over his shoulder, levitating
Lucius along behind them and trying to focus on the feel of Narcissa's long
nails tracing patterns over the back of his hand.
He narrowed her eyes when it recalled to mind, not memory of her tracing those
nails over his back or down the length of his cock, but instead the memory of a
slightly smaller hand that bore ink stains carefully holding his. Narcissa spun
on him the minute they'd entered the bedroom, invading his personal space and
leaning in to kiss his neck hungrily, her hands making short work of the
buttons on his robes while Severus tried to focus on getting Lucius into the
room and over to sprawl haphazardly across the bed.
She didn't bother trying to kiss his lips, knowing better by now, and Severus
tipped his head back, his hands finding her petite waist and pulling her close,
attempting to lose himself in the sensations as she tore at his clothes with
all the ferocity of a hell-cat. Severus grunted when she shoved him back
against the bedroom door, having forgotten how rough Narcissa Malfoy liked to
play. He tightened his grip on her until she ground herself against his growing
erection, mewling needily.
Severus twisted the pair of them, shoving her up against the door instead and
hiking up the skirt of her floor-length green gown, bunching it about her
petite waist and dipping his hands under it. She was naked beneath the skirt
and Severus smirked when he leaned into her, latching onto her neck hard enough
to leave a mark, his fingers sluicing through her already-slick folds and
making her writhe.
"So wet for me already, Cissy?" Severus taunted, his lips by her ear, knowing
the witch lived for dirty-talk. "One might think that your pretty husband
wasn't tantalizing you as he should."
"One might be correct," Narcissa mewled softly when he drove two fingers inside
her slick pussy, her head thrown back against the door, her chest pushed
forwards, cleavage straining against the low-cut neckline of her dress, just
begging him to rip her free of the fabric to taste her soft skin.
"Isn't he up for the task?" Severus asked, beckoning his fingers inside her.
"Does he not appreciate what a fine and rare witch he has?"
Narcissa moaned, always a vain witch who loved to be told how beautiful she
was.
"He's been too distracted," she panted. "Gods, Severus, you never disappoint,
do you?"
Severus smirked, meeting her gaze when she looked at him with lustful eyes.
"I endeavour not to," he said.
"Make me forget, Severus," she begged, her hips rolling into each thrust of his
fingers and a little cry escaping her when he pinched her clit. "Make me forget
that my son's life is in danger, and my house has been overrun by wretched scum
and a megalomaniac who dares threaten the lives of my family."
Severus nipped her neck lightly in punishment, chastising her for her open
admittance of displeasure with the Dark Lord, here in the private of her
bedroom where she didn't have to smile prettily and pretend she didn't want to
bury a dagger in the Dark Lord's eye for daring to threaten her son.
"Make me forget that my husband is so terrified, he doesn't even look at me
with those wickedly gleaming eyes I love so much," she begged, riding his
fingers with abandon. "Make me feel young and carefree again, Severus. Please,
for the love of Merlin, make me feel like nothing matters more than the rush of
impending orgasm."
Never one to deny so sweetly voiced a request from such a beautiful woman,
Severus obliged, twisting his fingers and locating the spongy little patch of
tissue within her that was guaranteed to make her scream. He tormented her
relentlessly, biting her neck and grinding his cock against her leg as he
finger-fucked her roughly.
Narcissa screamed out her release as she broke, and Lucius jerked awake with a
soft shriek behind him. Severus almost sighed, not at all in the mood to be
molested by a drunk and belligerent Lucius Malfoy but know it was part of the
bargain to fuck Cissy.
"Having all the fun without me, are you?" he drawled from the bed.
"Everything is more fun without you, Lucius," Severus told him, withdrawing his
fingers from inside Narcissa and bringing them to his lips as he turned to
sneer at the other wizard.
"If I didn't know better, I'd be hurt," Lucius informed him, smirking wickedly
as Severus licked the taste of Narcissa from his skin while the witch moulded
herself against his back, her hands making short work of the fastenings on his
trousers and dipping inside to encircle his cock.
She pulled his robes from his torso with her free hand, baring his skin to
Lucius's lustful gaze and allowing herself access to his flesh. She nipped his
shoulder as she stroked his cock, tracing the tip of her tongue over a long,
faded scar that marred his right shoulder and Severus shivered.
"Don't tease, Cissy," Lucius drawled, his own hand travelling to the growing
bulge in his trousers.
Narcissa giggled softly, fishing Severus cock from inside his trousers so that
Lucius could watch her pretty little hand stroking him. Expertly, she worked
her hand up and down his length, seeming to remember just how he liked it and
Severus let his head tip back in delight, surrendering to the touch and
lowering his guard there in the presence of the closest people he had left in
his life.
He hissed when a warm, wet mouth replaced Narcissa's hand as he was walked
across the room to the bed. Severus didn't open his eyes as he tangled his
hands in fine blond hair, his hips twitching with the urge to brutally fuck
that smart-mouth. He hated himself when his fingers carded through Lucius
thick, straight locks, and found his skin missing the texture of riotous curls.
Reaching for Narcissa blindly with his free hand, Severus Vanished her dress,
making her squeal with delight. He dragged her around in front of him, his hand
closing over her delicate throat and pulling her closer. She dragged him with
her, nudging Lucius aside and pushing him down until he was sprawled on the
bed. Severus opened his eyes as she straddled his chest, now stark naked and
such a pretty picture. Lucius's mouth was hot and wet, and Severus loathed that
even there with the two of them, the feel of a hot mouth around his cock made
him think of Granger.
Latching onto Narcissa's thighs, Severus dragged her up his body until she was
sitting on his face, trying to drown the memories of Granger in the taste of
Narcissa's sweet quim and the warmth of Lucius's mouth. He licked her out like
a starving man craving sustenance and Narcisa writhed with pleasure. Even then,
feasting on her delectable cream, he couldn't get that curly-haired little swot
out of his head. When Lucius impaled himself upon Severus's cock, he gritted
his teeth with the urge to let his darkest desires free, knowing that Lucius
and Narcissa might never forgive him if he unleashed his every emotion as he'd
done inside Granger.
"So fucking good," Lucius muttered, bouncing himself aboard Severus's cock and
pulling at Narcissa until he could snog his wife while Severus continued to eat
her out.
He'd never much cared for sex with another man and despite the tight sheath
gripping his cock, Severus took little pleasure from the sex. His fingers bit
into Narcissa's thighs and it was lucky the witch liked it rough, because he
was rapidly losing the ability to be gentle. Lucius groaned when Severus began
to buck under him.
He was losing control, and all the while the flashes of memory inside his head
tormented him as nothing had in almost twenty years.
"Gods, Severus," Narcisa squealed as she came hard, her juices coating his
face. Before she could recover, Severus lifted the witch with ease, shoving her
down his body and impaling her upon Lucius's cock.
"Ah," Lucius groaned, his head dropping back to be buried inside his wife
whilst impaled upon Severus. Severus twisted, his temper growing the longer her
fucked the pair of them and the memory of Miss Granger remained. His jostling
pushed Lucius to his back and Severus pulled out of him, muttering cleaning
charms before he crawled up behind Narcissa. She was impossibly tight when he
shoved his cock inside her quim alongside Lucius's and she groaned like a well-
paid whore as he and Lucius took her in tandem.
He fucked her hard then, one hand on the back of her neck, the other biting
into Lucius's thigh. Narcissa screamed again and Lucius began to curse foully
when the two of them found completion. Severus bit the witch hard enough to
leave marks when he closed his eyes and gave in to the incessant images filling
his head of wild curls and a younger, tighter body sheathing his own. When he
exploded inside of her it was with a roar of fury and defeat, and Severus
rolled away before either of them could ask him what was wrong.
Leaving the husband and wife pair sprawled together on their king-sized bed,
Severus muttered cleaning charms as he rolled to his feet and stood once more.
"Leaving so soon, Severus?" Lucius asked, looking sated, but sad to see him off
so quickly.
"Not all of us have the pleasure of free time, Lucius," Severus told his
closest friend softly as he dressed once more.
"Soon," Lucius murmured. "You know the Dark Lord means to make you Lord of
Selwyn Hall. Soon it will be your bedroom we fuck in."
"I'd never get the pair of your out of my bed if I invited you into it,"
Severus scoffed, and Lucius smirked wickedly, knowing his own sexual appetite
well enough that he didn't bother denying it.
"Preparations are almost complete, you know?" Lucius told him as Severus
buttoned his robes once more, his hands trailing sensually down his wife's back
where she rested on his chest, still impaled upon his cock.
"I am aware," Severus sighed.
"Aren't you happy, Severus?" Narcissa asked, frowning him.
"I don't imagine the Dark Lord means to make me Lord of anything without
nefarious motives," Severus said evenly.
"Neither do I," Lucius admitted. "Be careful, my friend. I cannot begin to
fathom his intentions, but I've heard rumours that whatever he is planning,
Dolohov is involved. Many times in the past days Dolohov has come to call upon
the Dark Lord here at the Manor."
Severus's blood ran cold at the very thought.
"He also asked me to prepare for the arrival of a very important guest,"
Narcissa told him softly. "His exact words were that I should set the table for
an extra guest at Yule. The restorations at Selwyn Hall are almost complete,
and so I believe he means to perform the ceremony over the holiday, Severus."
Severus nodded his head slowly, his brow furrowing.
"Did he give any hint of who the extra guest might be?" Severus asked softly as
he fastened his cloak about his shoulders once more.
Narcissa shook her head. "No, but he seemed wickedly amused at his own request,
so I suspect it's another in the long line of those that I disapprove at my
dining table."
Severus nodded sharply despite how unhelpful her answer was. Narcissa
disapproved of almost everyone, so there was little clue toward the identity of
an unexpected guest.
"You don't have to leave, you know?" Lucius asked quietly when Severus slipped
his shoes back on. "There's plenty of room in the bed, and plenty more I'd
enjoy doing to you, old friend."
"If I stay, who will ensure that Draco makes it home in one piece?" Severus
asked, raising one eyebrow.
Both blondes grew sombre at the mention of their son and Severus nodded in
farewell before taking his leave. He couldn't shake the sense of foreboding
that gripped him as he stalked through the dark and silent Manor. Nor could he
forget the angering simmering in his gut that a certain know-it-all witch
seemed to permeating his every wicked thought.
***** Chapter Ten *****
                                  Chapter Ten
===============================================================================
Hermione packed her suitcase quietly, unable to look at Lavender as the other
girl chatted animatedly to Parvati about how she'd been invited to the Burrow
for a brief time over the holidays. She was loudly boasting about it as though
Hermione hadn't been invited there every holiday since first year, and it was
hard not to roll her eyes at the silly, simpering witch. She felt terribly
guilty for shagging Ron last night when Lavender was obviously so smitten with
Hermione's best friend, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. She never
did, where Ron was concerned. Besides, Lavender was only being such a chit
about it all because she thought it would bug her and Hermione couldn't help
chuckling quietly to herself.
"Something funny, Hermione?" Parvati asked raising her eyebrows.
"It's just occurred to me that I'll have to put up with Lavender over
Christmas," Hermione said.
"What?" Lavender asked. "You're going to Ron's house, too?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I spend a portion of every holiday as the
Burrow," she said, smiling widely and feeling just a little bit like she might
be channelling Severus – his magic still fluttering against her own from her
little absorption trick the other day. "Mr and Mrs Weasley think of me like a
daughter. It's practically my mailing address. Won't it be fun to share a
bedroom there too, Lav?"
Lavender made a face, looking entirely furious and Hermione laughed wickedly as
she finished packing her trunk and levitated it behind her, ready to leave.
"I'll bet they like me better than you," Lavender sneered quietly.
Hermione paused in the doorway on her way out, turning to look at Lavender over
her shoulder.
"I'll bet Molly Weasley is going to eat you alive," Hermione replied,
positively grinning at the thought of how Molly would react to having such a
simpering twit for a potential daughter-in-law. Given how badly she'd taken to
Fleur, Hermione could just imagine that Lavender was in for a very
uncomfortable Christmas.
Without another word, Hermione left the blonde girl standing there looking pale
and worried now, rather than spiteful.
"Alright there, Hermione?" Ron asked when she reached the common with a spring
in her step.
"I'm fantastic," Hermione beamed at him. "I can't wait to see what your mother
thinks of Lavender."
Ron laughed.
"Yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I… uh… didn't get around to warning
Lav about her, yet."
"What, really?" Harry asked, pausing in his feast on a chocolate frog to stare
at his friend in alarm.
"Didn't want to spook her too much," Ron shrugged.
"This is going to be the best Christmas, ever," Hermione announced, skipping
closer and stealing a bite of Harry's chocolate before leading the way out of
the common room.
Harry and Ron followed her, arguing over the merits of warning Molly about
Lavender and her simpering giggle. They dropped their trunks off in the
Entrance Hall on the way to breakfast and Hermione almost stumbled as she
skipped into the Great Hall and ran right into Professor Snape as he was on his
way out.
"Oomph," she said, her hands coming up to rest against his chest while he
gripped her shoulders, forcing her back a step and steadying her.
"Miss Granger," he drawled, eyeing her coolly before his eyes jumped to Ron and
Harry behind her.
"You alright, Hermione?" Ron asked, his hand brushing the middle of her back.
"Fine," Hermione said. "Sorry for barrelling into you, sir."
"Watch where you're going next time, Miss Granger," he chastised, his hands
tightening reflexively around her arms before he released her.
"Of course, sir," Hermione said, unable to keep the wide smile from her face.
"Got any plans for Christmas, sir?"
He eyed her darkly, obviously less than pleased by her attempts at polite
conversation.
"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, and Hermione almost laughed at how annoyed he
seemed by the idea. "Now, go away, Miss Granger. You're entirely too cheery for
so early in the morning."
"And I haven't even had my coffee yet," Hermione grinned. "Well, Happy
Christmas, Professor Snape."
He narrowed his eyes on her, obviously thinking it ridiculous that she was
bothering with such formality when he'd probably be dragged to some Order
gathering at Headquarters over the holidays.
"Try to stay out of trouble, Miss Granger," he sneered in retort, stepping
around her.
"But trouble is so much fun," Hermione heard herself softly say, watching the
way his dark eyes darted to her face, flashing in warning. He didn't respond
before stalking away, but Hermione couldn't keep the grin off her face.
"Twisted," she heard Ron mutter in her ear when they reached the Gryffindor
table, but she ignored him as she fixed herself a hearty breakfast, in entirely
too good a mood to let anything bother her.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
"It would be unwise to draw any undue attention to yourself over the holidays,
Draco," Severus told his godson in the quiet of his office shortly before the
train was supposed to depart.
"I'd figured that much out for myself, Severus," Draco drawled, entirely too
snarky in his terror to bother with titles.
"Your attempts with the necklace and the poisoned mead will not go unnoticed,"
Severus went on quietly. "Claim that Potter interfered with the girl during her
mission to bring the item to Dumbledore and the Dark Lord will be merciful. He
is prone to making allowances when Potter meddles."
Draco curled his lip.
"You realise the focus this season will be on you, not me, don't you, Severus?"
Draco asked, eyeing him over the rim of his tea-cup – laced with Calming
Draught to ensure the boy actually took the train home rather than holing up in
his dormitory all Christmas.
"I am aware," Severus inclined his head. "And yet, my concern lies with you."
For the briefest of moments, a flicker of the little boy Draco had once been
could be seen and Severus almost wondered if the boy wasn't suddenly itching
with the urge to climb over his desk and nestle into his arms, as he'd done as
a tot whenever he was scared.
"Save your concerns for yourself, Uncle," Draco murmured softly, using a long-
since-shelved title he'd once addressed him as before he could master the
concept of godparents over blood relatives. "The whispers I've heard suggest
that you're going to be given a few unpleasant gifts this Yule."
"Don't let one of them be your suffering or your death, Draco," Severus said
quietly. "I'm afraid I might take issue with such a gift, and it would be a
terrible day in Malfoy Manor were I to be seen spurning a gift bestowed upon me
by the Dark Lord."
Draco's mouth twitched into a familiar smirk that Severus hadn't seen him wear
all year before it fell from his face once more.
"How do you do it, Severus?" he asked quietly. "How do you not… spit in his
face and call him a bastard? How do you stand there in his presence, defiantly
speaking out when he makes certain suggestions, without fearing his wrath? All
I want to do is pull my wand and curse him whenever I'm near him. I want to…"
Draco looked away, clenching his hand around his wand and gritting his teeth.
"When he threatens Mother and Father, I want to use the Killing curse, Uncle.
I hate the Dark Lord," Draco blurted bitterly, and Severus wondered how long
he'd been holding that in.
"No, Draco," Severus said gently. "You love the Dark Lord, as we all do."
Draco scoffed.
"I'd sooner abandon all blood purity and run off with a muggle than ever love
the likes of that monster," he breathed, almost as though he couldn't believe
he dared say such things.
Severus sipped his tea, eyeing his godson over the rim before he whispered.
"Wouldn't we all?"
Draco dropped his cup, his hands shook so much at the admission, and Severus
rose to his feet when the boy jumped up and rounded the desk, hurling himself
against Severus's chest. He'd been wondering how long it might take before he
broke, and Severus found himself pleased it was happening now, rather than in
the middle of a meeting or in the presence of the Dark Lord. Catching his
godson, Severus pulled him close as he hadn't since Draco had been just a boy.
He hated the humanity that stirred in his chest, the embrace recalling a
million memories of Draco's childhood spent reading the boy stories and
bouncing him on his knee and sneaking him sweets when Narcissa pretended not to
look. It had been a long time since such memories had surfaced, buried deep
beneath layers of Occlumency and hatred and wretchedness.
"I don't want to die," Draco breathed, his face hidden in Severus's shoulder.
"You won't, Draco," Severus told him. "I would commit the most heinous of
crimes to protect you."
"He's going to kill my Mum and Dad," Draco whispered brokenly. "He'll torture
them because I've failed."
The use of the terms 'mum' and 'dad' told tales of how scared Draco truly was.
He hadn't referred to his parents by those titles since he'd been just a tot
and Severus found his arms lifting to squeeze his godson into a tight embrace.
"He might torture them," Severus admitted. "He might torture you, too. And I
won't be able to intervene. You need only get through the holiday, Draco. After
that you will be out of his reach, once more."
"He's torturing them every time I fail," Draco shook his head.
"Not every time," Severus disagreed. "I was with your parents last night.
They're in good health, but for their worry for you. They're anxious to see
you."
Draco hands fisted the back of his robes as he tried to pull himself together,
and he jerked away just as suddenly as he'd claimed the embrace, never wanting
to seem weak. Severus understood the urge and he let the boy go, watching him
turn his pale face away to hide his red eyes as he surreptitiously wiped at
them.
"Will it ever end?" Draco asked quietly, his voice thick.
"One day," Severus nodded. "Perhaps sooner than you think."
Draco glanced at him sharply, his brows drawn, before he squared his shoulders
and reached for his propriety once more.
"Thank you for the tea, and the advice, Severus," he said formally.
Severus inclined his head in turn, knowing it was best if Draco distanced
himself once more, even if the shreds of humanity that still existed within
Severus wished it didn't have to be so. Merlin's bollocks, he would kill Miss
Granger for these wretched sparkles of humanity and feelings that he'd been
enduring since the Essentia Ceangal that had occurred between them. They should
have worn off, by now, and yet he would swear that little glitters of her magic
were still interspersed amid his own, causing moments of weakness such as his
revealing his past to Potter, and his sentiment over his godson.
Draco hurried from the room, leaving Severus alone once more and he dropped
down to sit behind his desk, his brow furrowed as he traced the tip of his
finger along his lower lip. He needed to do something about Miss Granger, but
he had no idea what. He needed to do something about Draco, Lucius and
Narcissa, too. He doubted the Dark Lord would be merciful if he ever suspected
Severus had turned traitor. The idea of seeing them suffer for his sake didn't
sit well.
A knock intruded on his thoughts a short time later and Severus looked up, his
eyes narrowed at the idea that a student dared come to call on him when they
all ought to be making for the station down in Hogsmeade.
"Enter," he growled, hoping whoever it was might hear his tone and think better
of their decision to bother him.
When the door was pushed open, Severus supposed he should have seen it coming
the minute she uttered her little comment about trouble being fun.
"Miss Granger?" he said, eyeing her from across his desk as she walked
confidently into the room, not at all concerned that he might tell her to go
away.
"Good morning, sir," she greeted him, as though she hadn't barrelled into him
in the Great Hall. Severus watched her with annoyance as she closed the door
firmly behind her and warded it before crossing the room and helping herself to
the chair in front of his desk, uninvited.
"What do you want, Granger?" he asked in frustration when she crossed her legs
and folded her hands in her lap, regarding him quietly.
"We never finished our discussion the other day," she said softly. "And you've
been avoiding me since then."
"I don't believe either of us actually planned on discussing anything further,
Miss Granger," he drawled, narrowing his eyes on her.
Her lips twitched into a quick grin and she nodded her head, conceding the
point.
"I chose both," she said, launching into the topic as though there hadn't been
more than two weeks between then and now; as though they'd never been
interrupted. "So, I wondered what your theory might be about that, sir, and I
wondered if you still believe Dolohov's curse had anything to do with it."
Severus leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and eyeing her in
silence, waiting for her to grow uncomfortable. She didn't fidget beneath his
gaze the way most of his students were prone to doing. She simply waited.
Severus hated her a little bit more for that.
"Has your patronus always been a fox?" He asked finally, conceding that she was
determined to discuss it and not going to be intimidated into just leaving well
enough alone.
She shook her head. "It was an otter last year. And I know that Tonks had her
patronus change when she fell for Remus, but I haven't fallen in love with
anyone, so I don't believe that's the cause for the change. Do you know of any
other reasons a patronus changes shape, sir?"
Severus mulled it over, taking another deliberately slow sip from his tea cup
as he regarded her, intrigued that she wasn't at all nervous or uncomfortable
beneath his gaze. She often grew to be, during classes when he eyed her
projects critically, but it seemed that while she clearly craved academic
approval, she wasn't looking for his approval outside the classroom. Severus
wondered if it was born of confidence or arrogance.
"Despite popular and thick-headed myths, a patronus does not only change shape
when two dunderheaded fools make the mistake of developing feelings for one
another, Miss Granger. That change, and any change of shape a patronus takes,
is born of an alteration to the personality of the witch or wizard. Anything
that affects the core magic of the wielder by altering who they are
fundamentally can cause such change. While falling in love does affect the
soul, changes such as that of Miss Tonks - wherein the shape of hers changed to
reflect the shape of Lupin's - are more often than not born of obsession,
rather than healthy and reciprocated love. Often when two people are evenly
matched - as close to being soulmates as any educated person might allow
without sounding ridiculous - their patroni will form the male and female
counterpart for one another. Miss Tonks, however, bears the same male
counterpart wolf patronus as Lupin, displaying obsession. However, as you
believe you have not fallen in love like some hapless fool, any other
alteration to who you are as a witch can cause the change. Did you lose your
virginity sometime between the initial otter shape and now?"
She didn't even have the decency to blush and Severus clenched his fist as she
shook her head.
"No. I lost my virginity in the summer after fourth year but didn't cast a
patronus until midway through fifth."
"You have witnessed death since then. Black's expiration may have affected your
core in the same way that seeing death allows one to see Thestrals," Severus
said.
Again, Miss Granger shook her head.
"I'd cast my patronus since then," she told him. "It was still an otter over
the summer. The change is recent."
"Suggesting, then, that your survival of Dolohov's curse is also not the cause
for the change. Do you remember precisely when you last cast a patronus before
the change?"
"Not since the summer. So, it has to have been something I did since
September," she sighed, frowning as though trying to recall anything new she
might've experienced since the commencement of the school year. "The only
unusual thing I did this year was shag you, Severus. Your patronus isn't a fox,
is it?"
Severus shook his head. "No, it is not. Though your interaction with me might
cause such a change. I am a Dark wizard, after all, and the fusion of our
magics might have altered something in you enough to change your patronus
shape. A fox and an otter are somewhat similar."
"One is just a bit more cunning and less playful than the other."
"Do you consider yourself to be more cunning than playful of late, Miss
Granger?" Severus drawled, unable to keep his eyes on her face when she shifted
slightly in her seat.
"Perhaps," she murmured, frowning.
"Weasley's patronus," Severus said, frowning in return. "What is it?"
"A Jack Russell terrier," she told him. "Harry's is a stag."
"And Mr Krum's" Severus asked.
She blinked, her frown deepening. "A wolf, I think."
"Not a fox?" He confirmed.
"Mine hasn't changed to reflect Viktor's," she rolled her eyes. "How did you
know about he and I, anyway?"
"One need only read the newspaper to discover the nifflers in your bank vault,
Miss Granger," he smirked.
"Not all of them," she said, looking at him pointedly and Severus might've
laughed were he more prone to such things.
"Not yet, anyway," he muttered darkly, dreading the day when it would
undoubtedly come to light that he'd been fucking one of his students.
"Yes, well," she sniffed, sighing. "Wait… I came of age since the summer. Would
turning seventeen be a cause for a big enough change to my core that it would
change my patronus?"
Severus had never considered it. Most wizards never actually managed to perfect
the Patronus Charm enough to have cast a corporeal patronus before the age of
seventeen.
"It's as good an explanation as any," he said after a long pause.
"And the magic?" she asked quietly. "Do you have a theory about the fact that I
was unable to choose between the Light and Dark magic in the jars, sir?"
Here, Severus's mouth twisted into a mean little smile.
"Actually, I do," he said, watching the way her expression grew wary when she
saw how he was looking at her. "You were unable to figure out which was Dark
and which was Light because both spells were neutral, Miss Granger. They felt
different when you touched each one because my intent whilst unleashing the
magic was of a Lighter or Darker mindset, but it was the same spell inside both
jars; one that can be used for Light, or for Dark, depending on the will of the
caster."
"Which spell was it?" she asked, frowning.
"A Blood Warming charm," Severus said. "Used in healing magic to regulate body
temperature and calm the infirmed; or, alternatively, used by Dark wizards to
boil the blood of a victim until their brain melts and their flesh sloughs off.
You were unable to tell them apart because I didn't put enough good or wicked
intent into either one to allow you to feel the difference."
She looked thunderstruck, her eyes widening and her mouth opening in outrage.
Severus began to laugh.
"You!" she spluttered. "You let me think for weeks that I was turning into
some…some… terrible person who couldn't even distinguish between good and bad?
You avoided me, even when I attempted to speak to you about it and you let me
think I…"
Severus laughed harder, entirely amused by how positively furious she looked.
Her curls crackled with purple light, her magic sparking as her temper flared
and when she shot to her feet, he almost choked on his own amusement.
"Stop laughing!" she snapped, slapping her hand down on his desk and glaring at
him over it. "How could you? I've been worried sick that I must've somehow
corrupted my moral compass and you just…"
She stomped her foot, flying into an even more glorious rage and Severus
watched the magic in her curls, making her hair begin to frizz out of control.
Her eyes glittered with fury as she glared at him.
"I should hex you," she snarled, and Severus laughed even harder at the very
idea until he felt certain tears might begin to stream down his face in
hilarity if he didn't get a grip.
She stomped around his desk angrily, wrenching his chair around to make him
face her with a surprising amount of strength for so slight a witch and Severus
looked up at her, still laughing, as she put her hands on her hips and tapped
her foot, apparently thinking about how to most effectively punish him.
"How could you?" she demanded again as his laughter faded to a chuckle.
"It's hardly my fault that your friend was unable to control himself and burst
into my office to interrupt before I could explain, Miss Granger," he drawled,
leaning back in his chair and regarding her, just daring her to throw a hex at
him like she so obviously wanted to.
"And you didn't think that maybe you should've attempted to explain to me
later?" she hissed. "You could've kept me back after class or spoken to me
about it during one of my detentions rather than pawning me off on Madam Pince
in the library. You could've summoned me to your office at any time and put me
out of my misery, and you didn't!"
Severus raised one eyebrow at her, smirking just a little bit.
"You'd have liked that, wouldn't you, Granger?" he asked, loathing that, up
close, he could smell the sweet vanilla scent of her hair and found his fingers
itching to bury in her wild curls.
She narrowed her eyes on him, apparently not in the mood to be taunted over
whether she wanted to fuck him again or not.
"I'd have liked to be put out of my misery," she said.
"Wouldn't we all?" he replied quietly, watching as some of the fire drained out
of her until she let her hands fall back to rest limply as her sides, standing
close enough to touch him, but not daring.
"I'm not morphing into some Dark witch who can't tell right from wrong?" she
asked softly after a pregnant pause.
"Who can say?" he asked. "That you are concerned about it suggests that you can
still distinguish right and wrong, but also suggests that you feel seduced by
the wrong, just the same. Morally sound people tend not to question if they're
being seduced by the Dark."
"Are you calling me morally corrupt?" She frowned.
Severus didn't answer. Instead he slowly reached a hand toward her, watching
her quiver with anticipation until he touched her. When he pressed his hand to
the middle of her chest, palm flat, she stepped closer and Severus dug his
magic against hers. She gasped at the sensation, but Severus pressed forward,
digging into her magic in the same manner he could dig into her mind, seeking
answers. Like a fabric he was examining for pulled threads or holes, he scanned
over the very magic within her that made her Hermione Granger, witch.
She closed her eyes, tipping her head back and mewling softly at the sweet
sensation that almost bordered on pain as he examined every inch of her magical
core. Unlike what had happened when they'd fused their magic, or what occurred
when he brushed his magic along the length of hers, this felt much more
intrusive but no less pleasurable. Severus ignored his rapidly swelling cock,
digging at her harder, searching for the sparkles of darkness that infected his
own core.
By the time he pulled back she was standing between his knees and she had her
hands tangled in his dark hair. She was breathing heavily, and her face was
alight with lust despite her tightly closed eyes.
"What did you just do?" She whispered, scraping her nails against his scalp in
a way that almost made Severus want to purr like a contented housecat.
"Examined the fabric of your magic for Darkness," he said huskily, his hand on
the middle of her chest sliding over her ribs as he reached the other to grip
her hip, not at all thinking clearly as he pulled her down into his lap.
She straddled him readily, one of the few unafraid to touch him when so many
were.
"And?" She asked, awaiting his findings.
"You are not infected with the Darkness, yet," Severus murmured, nuzzling his
nose along her jaw before leaning in to kiss her neck.
"Yet? You think I will be?" She asked, tipping her head to give him better
access.
"If I have anything to say about it," Severus whispered before latching onto
her neck and suckling her delectable flesh as she ground herself against him.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Hermione moaned, pressing further into his arms and rubbing herself needily on
him. She could feel that he wanted it as much as she did, and she found her
hands trailing to the front of his robes, her fingers toying with the buttons.
"If you undo any more of those, you'll miss the train home, Miss Granger," he
said when she'd unbuttoned the first ten of the many buttons that adorned his
robes, barely managing to do more than expose his collarbones, which she
lavished with nips and soft, tantalizing kisses.
"Might be worth it," Hermione muttered, enjoying the way he tipped his head
when she latched onto the sweet spot below his ear.
"Perhaps," he agreed, his voice husky. "At least until we had to explain to
Albus and Minerva just what you were doing, instead."
Hermione nipped him again, rolling her hips and enjoying the way his hands
tightened on her hips.
She didn't want to go. She loved her parents and wanted to see them, but the
sensations pulsing through her made her think she'd be better off staying at
Hogwarts where she could shag her Potions professor senseless all Christmas,
instead.
A chime of the school bells sounded in the distance, warning students to make
their way to Hogsmeade if they wished to take the train home and Hermione
sighed, leaning into Snape and resting her forehead against the top of his
shoulder.
"Off you go," he said quietly, his hands trailing to her bottom and giving a
surprisingly gentle squeeze. "Before Potter or my colleagues come looking for
you."
Hermione nodded, pulling back and climbing out of his lap reluctantly. When she
was on her feet, Snape rose too, towering over her and wrapping himself in his
teacherly persona once more. A flick of his wand righted the buttons she'd
opened, and Hermione sighed softly when she met his unfathomable gaze,
disappointment obvious in her eyes.
"Are you coming to Molly's Christmas lunch for the Order?" she asked as she
trailed back around his desk, needing to be on her way.
"No," he scoffed.
Hermione laughed just a little, unsurprised. He was hardly made to feel welcome
with the Order most of the time. Well, ever, she supposed. The rest of the
Order hardly liked him, and she got the feeling that not many of his colleagues
liked him, either.
"What will you do for Christmas, then?" She asked. "Do you have plans? You
can't spend the holidays alone…"
His mouth twisted like he didn't know if he wanted to smile or sneer.
"I assure you I can, Miss Granger. I have before. Many times," he said.
"However, this holiday will not be spent moping in my quarters. The Dark Lord
is extremely fond of the Yuletide season and likes to ensure that we misfits
all have somewhere to go."
"You don't look pleased about it."
He chuckled darkly. "A Death Eater Christmas is something I wouldn't wish upon
anyone, Miss Granger. But there will, undoubtedly, be many a victim whose
holiday will be ruined forevermore. At least if they survive. Most don't."
He shrugged.
"You could spend it with us sane people, instead?" She suggested softly, her
heart clenching for him that his position as the Order's spy meant he would
probably be forced into the company of sociopaths and psychopaths, and might
have to witness or participate in the torture of innocents.
He simply shook his head, dismissing her suggestion for the folly it
undoubtedly was. For Severus Snape, being forced into the company of cheerful
and suspicious people like Harry and the Weasleys would likely be just as
unbearable, if not even more wretched, than being in the company of Lord
Voldemort and his minions. He nodded at the door when Hermione did her level
best to conceal her disappointment that he wasn't even going to consider the
company of people she happened to adore, silently telling her to be on her way
as the second chime of the bells indicated that stragglers better hurry.
"Maybe I'll see you?" she asked when she reached the door, looking back even as
she turned the door handle.
"For your sake, Miss Granger, I sincerely hope not," he said quietly, eyeing
her like she was something complex he didn't quite understand just yet.
"Happy Christmas, Severus," she said softly, smiling in farewell and knowing
better than to make an arse of herself by suggesting anything further or
complicating something that shouldn't be happening at all. He didn't return the
sentiment, but he nodded a second time before she hurried out the door, needing
to run if she was going to make the train on time.
She raced up out of the dungeons and was just crossing the Entrance Hall when
she barrelled right into someone standing in the middle of the room.
"Ooomph!" The person - a boy, by the feel of him - grunted.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione blurted, trying to right herself. "I'm going to miss
the train if I don't hurry and I didn't even see you standing there. Are you
alright? "
"Good luck hurrying out from under this cursed mistletoe without my help,
Granger," the infuriatingly familiar drawl of Draco Malfoy filled her ears just
as she tried to hurry around the boy she'd barrelled into, only to find her
feet stuck to the floor.
"Malfoy?" She asked, hissing as she twisted to look up above their heads where
a particularly aggressive looking sprig of mistletoe had sprouted. "Oh, for
Merlin's sake! Really?"
"Really," Malfoy drawled. "I've been stuck here for almost ten minutes.
Everyone else is gone."
Hermione eyed him in trepidation, not at all liking what she suspected was
about to happen.
"You realise we'll both miss the train if we don't deactivate the charm,
right?" she sighed.
"I'm aware," he nodded.
"My friends would have kittens if they saw this," she muttered.
"Mine would commit murder," he replied.
"No one ever finds out, then?" She asked briskly.
He nodded sharply, eyeing her and obviously waiting for her to make the first
move. The reluctance and disgust on his face was obvious and Hermione didn't
doubt that her expression mirrored his at the very thought of having to kiss
him to be free of the wretched little plant. Huffing, Hermione fisted the front
of his robes boldly, pulling him down as she stretched up on her toes until she
could reach his lips. He resisted, obviously not thrilled at the idea of
snogging a mudblood and displeased by the rough treatment she was giving his
shirt. He'd probably consider it to be soiled beyond saving when she let him
go. Hermione pressed her lips to his quickly, brushing her closed lips against
his, hoping the charm would break and set them free. When she pulled back a
moment later, they were still stuck, and Malfoy wiped at his mouth in disgust
before glaring at the mistletoe hatefully.
"Pretty sure it's going to require proper snogging if we want to be set loose.
Which, I do. If I miss the train, Harry and Ron will assume I've been
murdered," Hermione grumbled.
"Hang around in my vicinity long enough, and you might be," Draco said quietly,
though he looked more like he was trying to warn her away, rather than like he
was attempting to threaten her. She frowned at him, opening her mouth intent on
saying something to him but before she could utter another sound, he struck.
She squeaked in surprise when he nodded again before his hands closed over her
shoulders, jerking her close as his lips crashed down on hers. He snogged her
hard, his tongue sweeping between her parted lips, bringing the taste of tea
and Calming Draught with it. She kissed him back as well as she could manage
amid her surprise and her disgust, frowning when there was no scatter of
mistletoe over her immediately. He nipped her bottom lip before exploring her
mouth more fully and Hermione kept her eyes tightly closed, kissing him back
and hating that her mind flashed with longing that Snape would snog her like
Malfoy currently was.
When, finally, the enchantment broke, a rain of leaves and berries scattered
over the pair of them, and they broke apart both panting and both wiping at
their mouths as though burned by the taste of one another.
"What is the meaning of this?" A familiar cold voice asked, and Hermione's eyes
widened in horror while Malfoy closed his, looking like he feared his death was
imminent.
Turning to Severus, recognising his voice without even needing to look,
Hermione stammered at him, her cheeks turning scarlet.
"Mistletoe," she said, picking a few scattered twigs from her hair and holding
them out as though they might offer some defence.
His dark eyes flicked to the twigs and berries that must surely still be stuck
in her nest of curls, before resting on her face once more. His face was devoid
of any expression. Yet, for some reason Hermione had the strangest feelings
that he was angry, or perhaps even hurt, that she'd snogged Malfoy for her
freedom.
"How convenient for you both," he hissed quietly. "Get out of my sight before
you miss the train. And don't be stopping along the way to tongue-bath each
other."
Hermione gagged just a little, but she didn't dare argue, reminded that she
needed to run if she was going to make it to the train before it pulled out of
the station.
"Oh, bugger," she said, spinning on her heels and racing for the door.
The steps were slippery, and she almost lost her balance when she skidded on
them, landing awkwardly on her ankle but running hard for the road down to the
village where the bright red Hogwarts Express was whistling and preparing to
depart. She ran full pelt, her hair streaming, the chilly and snow-filled air
making it hard to breath and hard to see. The path was treacherous, but
Hermione ran, just the same.
When she skidded through the gates, the enchantments that protected the castle
washed over her and she shook herself, wondering why she'd never felt them
before. The train was still whistling and she could hear the sound of footfalls
pounding along in her wake. Twisting her head, she darted a glance over her
shoulder, spying Malfoy running behind her, obviously intent on making it to
the train on time, too.
She didn't spy the hooded figure in the dark cloak that suddenly stepped from
behind one of the pillars of Hogsmeade Station and right into her path until it
was too late. Barrelling right into someone, Hermione screamed in surprise even
as unforgiving arms clamped around her slim frame and a terrible twist behind
her navel dragged her through space and time as she was apparated away.
***** Chapter Eleven *****
                                Chapter Eleven
===============================================================================
Draco Malfoy almost stumbled in shock when Antonin Dolohov leapt out from
behind a pillar like some comic villain from a children's tale. He snatched
hold of Granger so quickly that had Draco not been focusing quite so hard on
the back of the witch's curly-haired head, he'd have missed her abduction
completely. Only months spent staring at his fellow Death Eaters and learning
their faces, their names, and their shapes so intimately allowed him to even
identify the man.
A pit opened in his stomach and he raced aboard the train, jumping from the
platform to the train and colliding heavily with the railing. It dug into his
stomach, but the wind had already been knocked out of him in his shock over
Granger's kidnapping and Draco glanced back at the platform as the train pulled
out.
This was bad.
He might not like the jumped up little mudblood, but he knew how it was going
to look when people learned he'd been the last to board the train and the last
to see her before she disappeared. He'd even been caught snogging her, for
Merlin's sake. He'd be questioned at length and vilified by the likes of Potter
and his lackeys. Shoving away from the railing, Draco felt his feet carry him
the length of the train without really thinking about the consequences of his
actions. He peered into each compartment, moving on until he reached the
compartment where Potter and Weasley were worriedly beginning to search for
their friend.
Hurrying inside, his wand drawn, Draco closed the compartment door quickly and
lowered the blind to keep anyone from seeing him.
"Malfoy?" Potter asked warily, his eyes narrowed and his own wand in his hand.
"Granger's been kidnapped," Draco blurted without thinking. "Just now. On the
platform. She was running for the train and Dolohov grabbed her."
"What?" Potter snarled, leaping to his feet and squaring off against him, his
eyes narrowed hatefully.
"You heard me, Potter," Draco hissed. "She's been snatched. I don't know what
you want to do to get your little Order minions on top of trying to save her,
but I guarantee that if you wait the day-long trip it'll take to get back to
London before trying to save her, she'll be dead before you can track her
down."
"What did you do to her?" Potter snarled.
"Nothing," Draco said. "I was running for the train, too, and the minute she
reached the platform Dolohov jumped out and grabbed her. I barely made it onto
the train. Do what you want with the information, but she's gone."
He made to back out of the compartment, but Potter lunged for him before he
could even open the door, his wand digging into Draco's throat.
"You lured her, didn't you?" he accused, his green eyes filled with hatred.
"She's never been late enough to miss the train. You did something. Don't think
for a second that we don't know you're a Death Eater. You probably helped your
buddy Dolohov, trapping Hermione somewhere for him to find. You did something
to make her late, just like you did something to Katie that day in Hogsmeade."
Draco narrowed his eyes in return, digging his wand into Potter's ribs
aggressively and trying to force him back even though Weasley, Weasley, and
Longbottom were all on their feet, too. They all looked ready to rip him apart
with their bare hands if wands failed and Draco cursed silently to himself that
this was what he got for trying to be a decent person, for a change.
"If I wanted to hurt your little mudblood, Potter," he drawled coldly. "I
wouldn't let Dolohov do the dirty work. See, he's not really what anyone might
call merciful. Believe me, wherever she is, she's not just in pain right now.
She's in agony. You've felt the Cruciatus curse under the Dark Lord's wand,
yeah? Amplify that pain by a hundred and you'll be close to the type of pain
that Dolohov likes to inflict on people. I wouldn't wish that kind of fate on
anyone, Potter. Not even a jumped-up know-it-all mudblood."
"If they hurt a single hair on her head, I'm going to take you apart, Malfoy,"
Potter snarled. "I don't care what you say; you had something to do with him
taking her! You better tell us where he'd take her, or I'm going to find out
just how much you have to mean the Killing curse when you utter it."
Draco paled, his heart racing with fear inside his chest when he saw the same
gleam in Potter's eyes that he'd seen in the eyes of the Dark Lord before he'd
killed Professor Burbage.
"The Manor," Draco whispered. "If he kidnapped her on the Dark Lord's orders,
she'll have been taken to Malfoy Manor. If he acted independently… you'll never
find her. The Russian has hidey-holes all over the world."
Draco bit his lip on a groan when the bastard sucker punched him, shoving him
hard against the door before twisting away and casting his patronus. Weasley
and his sister were already casting theirs, putting messages into the stupid
glowing white shapes. Longbottom was trying to cast his, too, and Lovegood was
attempting to untangle her wand from her hair. Shaking his head and wiping at
the blood that trickled from his nose, Draco let himself out of the compartment
and hurried off to find his friends, terrified by the thought that by the time
he got home, the girl he'd just snogged might be dead on his dining room table.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
"PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE! HERMIONE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED! DOLOHOV TOOK HER ON THE
PLATFORM!"
Five swirling patronuses exploded into the staff room where Albus Dumbledore
was conducting an intimate Order meeting, all carrying the same message.
Harry's stag was the loudest and brightest, though a Jack Russell terrier, a
jack-rabbit, a mare, and a bear all galloped about the stag bearing the same
chilling news.
"Albus!" Minerva gasped, jumping to her feet in horror.
"No!" hissed Filius.
"It can't be true," said Horace.
Albus closed his eyes in horror. He'd felt something niggling at the wards that
protected the grounds all morning, and had suspected that the Death Eaters
might try to snatch Harry from the Platform. He'd even put Hagrid and some of
the other teachers in charge of overseeing the train's departure. Nymphadora
and Remus were both supposed to have been nearby, and Bill was stationed on the
train to protect the children.
When he opened his eyes, he immediately sought out Severus – who had stalked
into the staff room a scant fifteen minutes ago in the foulest mood Albus had
seen him in for weeks. Severus's brow was furrowed as though he was surprised
by the news and Albus Dumbledore knew that didn't bode well.
"We have to save her," Minerva insisted. "The last time Dolohov was anywhere
near her, he almost killed the poor girl."
They were panicking and Albus help up his hand.
"Severus," he said quietly when they all fell silently.
"I was not made aware of any plans to kidnap Potter or his friends, Albus,"
Severus said quietly. "Dolohov may be acting alone. He has harboured a grudge
for the girl since she survived his curse in June."
"He will torture her?" Albus asked softly, frowning.
"Unless he is acting on the orders of the Dark Lord and has been instructed not
to, yes," Severus said, his lips pinching.
"Rescue her, Severus," Minerva pleaded. "For the love of Merlin, rescue her.
The terrible things they will do to a muggle-born girl like Miss Granger are
beyond imagining."
Severus looked over at Albus, raising one eyebrow and awaiting the order to be
sent after her.
"Do not do anything to compromise your position in Tom's esteem, Severus,"
Albus said softly. "But if you are able to save her without giving yourself
away as disloyal to Tom, please do so."
Severus nodded sharply, rising to his feet and sweeping from the staff room
with a billow of dark robes.
"Minerva, please go to Headquarters. Alert the Weasley's and the other members
of the Order. Filius, send word to Bill aboard the train. Have him portkey
Harry and the others directly to Headquarters. We cannot risk Tom and his
minions snatching them from the train or storming Kings Cross station when they
reach London. Horace, please accompany me to Hogsmeade to locate Hagrid, Remus
and Nymphadora. I am concerned by what might've become of them that this has
happened."
He strode for the door, intent on getting to the bottom of all this, and trying
to ignore the niggling thought in his mind that whatever Tom had planned for
young Miss Granger, it was not what they were all fearing.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
"Severus?" Lucius asked, smiling in greeting when Severus apparated to Malfoy
Manor.
"Is she here?" he asked of the blond wizard briskly.
"Who? Cissy?" Lucius frowned.
"Granger. Potter's mudblood. She was snatched from the station as the students
were boarding the train," Severus said tightly.
Lucius raised his eyebrows.
"What would the Dark Lord want with a mudblood?" Lucius frowned. "Merlin, you
don't think she was the guest the Dark Lord was referring to, do you?"
Severus stopped mid-stride, faltering as he turned his head sharply to look at
Lucius.
"Fuck," he breathed.
Lucius eyed him.
"You think he wants her for whatever he has planned regarding the ritual to
make you Lord of Selwyn Hall?" Lucius asked, frowning. "Why would he…"
Severus kept walking, stalking deeper into the Manor and making a beeline for
Lucius's office and the cabinet where he kept his best whiskey.
"Oh, Severus. No," Lucius said, trailing after him and sounding positively
disgusted. "She's a mudblood… but then, that never bothered you, did it?
Salazar's rod, Severus! She's the same age as Draco!"
"Lucius, be quiet," Severus said, taking up the whiskey decanter and removing
the stopper before lifting it to his lips and gulping down the contents.
"Is she even of age?" Lucius sneered, ignoring the directive.
"She turned seventeen at the beginning of the school year," Severus grunted
when the decanter was empty, wiping at him mouth and frowning as he threw
himself down in Lucius's office chair.
"How long have you been fucking her?" Lucius asked nosily. "And how did the
Dark Lord find out?"
"Dolohov's trick, probably," Severus muttered. "He's the one who snatched her."
"How long, Severus?" Lucius asked.
"Only a few times," he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his
nose as his head began to throb with rage. "She surprised me when I returned
after being punished at Greyback's claws a few weeks ago."
"And you just shagged her?" Lucius frowned. "I know you lose some of yourself
to the Occumency, but she's still your student, Severus. And a mudblood. And
Potter's closest female friend. And entirely too clever for her own good. As
though she didn't already have a huge target painted on her back?"
Severus opened his eyes to glare at his closest friend.
"You're just sore because I fucked you last night even though I've been fucking
her," he snarled.
Lucius curled his lip. "Remind me to bathe in bleach this evening," he sneered.
"What could you possibly see in her, Severus? She's got that wretched hair and
those terrible teeth."
"You imagine she means more tha a warm, tight hole to fuck?" Severus sneered in
return. "The Dark Lord has obviously seen the list of those I've shagged and
spotted a perfect opportunity to torment Potter by tying his best female friend
to the boy's least favourite teacher."
"You know what the ritual demands, don't you?" Lucius asked him quietly. "You
understand what she will become?"
Severus gritted his teeth, looking away even as he nodded sharply.
"Perhaps he means to kill her off, afterward. Someone disposable to
legitimatise your Lordship in the Old Magic, to then be cast aside once it is
done?" Lucius suggested.
Severus's gut was churning with fear like he hadn't known in many long years.
Everyone was going to know. Everyone. They would ask why the Dark Lord would
choose her for such a task. They would want to know what had pushed him to
agree, and what might make her comply. They would all find out that he'd fucked
one of his students.
Worse, they were going to subject her to the Death Eater hospitality at
Christmastime. They would all sneer over her blood status and the Dark Lord
would raid her mind. If there was anyone he didn't want in the hands of the
Dark Lord for the knowledge locked away inside her mind, it was Granger. The
girl knew everything. She knew he was a traitor to the cause. She knew about
the Horcruxes. She knew intimate secrets about Potter, his hopes and his fears,
and his boring but potentially exploitable habits. She knew the location of
Headquarters and any number of other things that could devastate the resistance
the Order had been putting up in the face of the Dark Lord's rise.
They would torture her, he realised numbly. They would torture her and toy with
her like cats with mice, batting and prodding and nipping just to watch her
scurry about, trying to get free. Severus felt sick. This was all his fault. He
never should have fucked her. If he'd kept his head and been sensible, he'd
have sent her on her way that evening in his classroom rather than fucking her.
She'd be a witness to the Dark Lord's punishment of him and nothing more. She
wouldn't be being held hostage by the likes of Dolohov. She wouldn't be
subjected to the foul men and women that made up the ranks of the Dark Lord's
forces.
She wouldn't be being forced into anything with him. And Severus had a
terrible, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that the Dark Lord was
going to make sure it was a very public ritual as he forced the witch to bind
herself to him, making him Lord of Selwyn Hall. He'd had time to prepare for
the horror that would ensue, and despite the frequent mistrust among the
brethren, he would essentially be surrounded by friends. Men and women who'd
seen him fuck, and heard him curse, and watched him murder. These were his
people – many whom he'd grown through Hogwarts with. They were the people he'd
associated with almost exclusively before he'd taken the position as a teacher
at the school. They were the people who'd egged him on and encouraged him when
he broke the rules, and later, the law. They were the ones beside him through
thick and thin and the ones who knew where many of his bodies were buried.
Some of them, like Lucius, knew that he was a man who'd committed patricide at
the age of fifteen. Some of them knew he'd raped. Some knew he'd butchered.
Burned. Tortured. Ravaged. Reeved. They might all be cruel and wicked in
Slytherin, Severus thought grimly, but there could be no denying the Sorting
Hat's song about finding true friends in Slytherin. They had seen him naked.
Seen him fuck. Seen him cry out in agony when he was tortured for his misdeeds
when he displeased the Dark Lord.
Some, like Narcissa, had patched him up when he was too broken to drag himself
home and do it himself. They'd seen him bleed. Lucius had seen him cry. They
were his friends, and Severus couldn't bear the thought of so pure a witch as
Hermione Granger – whose magic and mind he might've been plotting to corrupt –
being subjected to the likes of such friends. Merlin, he'd thought about doing
terrible things to her, but there would be no going back from this.
She would never forgive him. Her last hours might be spent in inscrutable
agony, publicly humiliated and utterly alone. And she was alone. He couldn't
help her. The Dark Lord would not permit him to interfere with his apparently
carefully laid plans for the girl – not even for the sake of maintaining his
place as an Order spy. He could already hear the argument in his head – the
story he'd be told to tell. That there had been no way to save her. That he
hadn't arrived in time to protect her from what she would endure. That he,
himself, would've been killed if he didn't cooperate and revel in her
humiliation, as the Dark Lord intended.
Severus suspected that once the ritual was complete and she was tied to him,
the Dark Lord would let her go. It would wound Potter so much more to lose
trust in his friend and to pit him against her when she was little more than a
Death Eater's whore, than it would to outright kill her. She would be returned
to the Order like a tarnished and broken toy whose usefulness has been spent in
their eyes. She would be damaged, but alive. They would burn with the urge for
revenge over whatever she endured, but not so much as they would, were they
left to avenge her death. They would tiptoe around her and she would isolate
herself further because she would feel tainted under their worried gazes.
He knew the little witch enough to know that for all her apparent intrigue with
the Dark, she was a morally good person. She defended House Elf rights, and
championed Hippogriffs, and coddled giants and werewolves. She was also a
martyr, not afraid to sacrifice something valuable to her if it might protect
those she cared about. She would be entirely too easy to manipulate, and she
would play right into the Dark Lord's plans. After all, she'd already proven
that she was a survivor and a strong witch. She'd shown her Gyrffindor colours
a good many times. She wouldn't be meek in the face of their torment, and that
would almost be worse than simply curling up until they all went away. She
would fight back. And it would probably spell her doom.
Severus breathed out slowly, opening his eyes and meeting Lucius's gaze. The
blond wizard was eyeing him curiously, obviously baffled by the idea that he'd
willingly fucked another mudblood, and concerned about what it would all mean
for Severus that she'd been kidnapped.
"He won't kill her," Severus said quietly. "So quick an end would be a waste of
the potential to strike at Potter's weak underbelly. His love for the girl will
ensure that the Dark Lord will send her home to him broken and fractured, a
shell of the witch she has been until now."
Lucius nodded thoughtfully, fetching a second bottle of whiskey from the
cupboard across the office and pouring them both a glass.
"Won't Dumbledore be put out with you for returning Potter's little bitch to
him, tarnished?" Lucius asked, sipping his whiskey slowly while Severus
struggled to bottle the rage fizzing inside his skull as it hadn't since Lily
had fallen for James Potter's charms.
"When he knows that saving her and returning her unscathed would risk my
position in the Dark Lord's ranks and lose him his little spy?" Severus
sneered. "No. Albus Dumbledore would willingly sacrifice every one of Potter's
friends to the Dark if it meant keeping him in the loop and keeping Potter
alive long enough to do his duty. He will be displeased to learn I've been
fucking her and corrupting her under his nose. But he will use it as a tool,
attempting to turn her spy, as well. He will use her connection to me to drive
a wedge between her and Potter, driving her toward the ranks for comfort, all
while offering her titbits of forgiveness and praise and hope. He will attempt
to wield her as he believes he can wield me."
"You believe he will fail? The girl will not cooperate?" Lucius asked, raising
his eyebrows.
Severus smirked. He loathed that even there, with his closest friend, he had to
play the double agent and hide his true intentions from the world.
"She only fucks me when I'm the Death Eater," he drawled smugly. "Miss
Granger likes to play in the Dark. When I am who I pretend to be amid the Order
and my colleagues at the school, she has nothing but fear and snide scorn where
I am concerned. But when I'm myself, as I am whilst here with you? The witch
positively creams for my cock."
Lucius laughed.
"It would not be so very hard to corrupt her to the Dark," Severus said,
sipping his whiskey liberally. "She is curious by nature, and she is already
being seduced by the Darkness. In the right hands, cut off from her do-good
friends and left in the clutches of the Dark Lord's forces? Allowed and even
encouraged to pursue a knowledge of the Dark? The girl will be more glorious
than even Bella before I am through."
Lucius was smirking wickedly, looking positively alight with the idea as
Severus hadn't seen him look in a long time. A thrill washed through him, the
darkness within flickering to life in his blood and pulsing through his magic,
making him burn with the urge to do those wicked things he so often resisted.
As he tipped his glass up, downing the contents of his glass before smirking
cruelly in return, Severus loathed himself just a little that he wasn't
entirely sure if he was just playing his role, or if he really would corrupt
her to the core.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Hermione blinked her eyes open groggily, trying to shake off the vestiges of
sleep. She frowned at the sight of damp stone walls, wondering for a moment if
she'd fallen asleep in Potions class. Her neck was twinging painfully, and she
felt a little muzzy as she tried to make sense of her surroundings and
attempted to slowly push herself into a sitting position.
She was cold, she realised, but when she looked down at herself she was dressed
warmly in her cloak. Sitting up and rubbing her head – which was throbbing
painfully at the back as though she'd hit with something – Hermione realised
she was sitting in a dungeon. Worse, a jail cell. There were bars making up one
entire wall of the confined space where she'd awoken and Hermione's eyes
widened in horror. He hands dove for her pockets, searching in vain for the
wand she'd apparently been relieved of and Hermione cursed.
The memory of slamming into someone as she been running for the train
resurfaced and Hermione paled, realising that whoever she'd run into had
kidnapped her. She'd been snatched right off the platform and now she was being
held in some dank dungeon, Merlin only knew where, and she was without any
weapons. Her heart began to race as the panic set in.
"Bugger," she cursed, scrambling to her feet and hurrying for the door. She
could feel the hum of wards designed to keep her in and Hermione narrowed her
eyes, flicking her wrist the way she always did when using her wand to disable
Snape's wards.
She smirked when they dropped, wandless magic coming to her aid and undoing the
wards with surprising ease. She twisted the handle, opening the door to her
cell and peeking into the corridor beyond cautiously. No one stopped her as she
made a break for it and Hermione ran down the length of the corridor, ignoring
the dizziness threatening to consume her. She found a staircase at the end of
the corridor and she took it to the next floor, hoping there would be some way
to escape beyond it. All she had to do was find an unguarded fireplace that was
connected to the Floor network and she'd be free. Her panic bag – stored and
concealed in the pocket of her robes for just such emergencies as being without
a wand and kidnapped - contained a small packet of Floo Powder and Hermione
knew she could get free just as long as no one spotted her.
When she reached the top of the stairs she was met with what appeared to be
some kind of drawing room or parlour and Hermione skidded to a halt as she
spied what awaited her.
Glowing red eyes and terrible, translucent skin were unnerving enough without
the serpentine slits in the place of a proper nose. The pleased and indulgent
smile Lord Voldemort wore made her think the wards had been purposely weak in
order for just such an escape attempt. He was alone, which surprised her,
sitting in a wing-backed chair by the fireplace. He had his fingers interlocked
before him, terrible bony white digits that made her think of skeletons rather
than of flesh and blood. He regarded her quietly, the chair facing toward the
top of the stairs.
He'd obviously been expecting her. Hermione eyed him in utter horror, having
never been so repulsed by the sight of a person in all her life. Her mouth
opened and closed in revulsion and Hermione blinked stupidly, trying to think
of something – anything – to say that might be appropriate and more articulate
than gagging. His smile grew as he slowly inclined his head in greeting and
leaned forward just a little as he spoke.
"Good Evening, Hermione Granger."
***** Chapter Twelve *****
                                Chapter Twelve
===============================================================================
He greeted her politely and spoke calmly, all whilst looking wickedly amused
rather than offended by her obvious disgust. Hermione shuddered in utter
horror. His voice, which she'd expected to be high and cold, and utterly
scathing, was actually quite pleasant and even warm. She recalled with sudden
clarity that she'd once read, when researching the First War, that Lord
Voldemort had initially gained a following because he began his campaign in a
vein that appealed to oppressed and disgruntled magic-users who were in the
chokehold of laws designed to protect muggles more than it did wizards.
She had also read that prior to him revealing his more sinister viewpoints, he
was well known for being handsome, charismatic, and well-spoken. The looks had
obviously been ruined, but it seemed he was no less charismatic when he fixated
on a person and despite her disgust, Hermione experienced sudden understanding
as to how so many people had fallen for his plots.
He might be terribly wicked, and might very well be intending her no small
amount of harm, but she found that even simply standing in his presence and
having yet to complete the exchange of greetings, he was intriguing to say the
least.
"Lord Voldemort, I presume?" she managed after clearing her throat and glancing
around quickly, hoping to find some weapon or path to escape.
"Let us not pretend we are unaware of the identity of the other, Hermione," he
said, smiling indulgently as though she were a child who'd told an unamusing
joke. "I see you've made short work of Antonin's wards down in the dungeons
despite being relieved of your wand."
He held up the vine-wood instrument that had not left her possession since
she'd been eleven, offering her a knowing little smile when she unconsciously
took a step closer, her hand lifting as though she might reach for it.
"Please," he inclined his head politely to a second wing-backed chair opposite
his own – this one facing the fireplace, rather than the staircase. "Join me,
Hermione. You and I have much to discuss."
"I'd really prefer that if it is your intent to kill me, you don't delay and
offer me some false sense of comfort or hope that I might escape unscathed,"
Hermione said mildly, frowning.
He laughed, and Hermione shuddered at the terrible sound like rattling bones.
"Ah, so there is some spirit in you. I'd wondered what Severus might've been
attracted to. He never did like a meek witch, and I suspect you are anything
but," Voldemort said, and Hermione loathed the faintest flicker of pride that
sparked at the summation.
She frowned further at his mention of Snape, wondering just how he knew that
she and Professor Snape had been intimate.
"Did you invade my mind while I was unconscious?" she asked, worried that he
might've uncovered something terrible.
"No," he smiled. "Sit with me, Hermione. It is only polite that discussion take
place over tea, no? And you've been unconscious for quite some time. I expect
you're thirsty."
Hermione frowned, having not noticed how dry her mouth was until that moment.
"Have you poisoned the tea?" she asked suspiciously.
"My, Gryffindors are a blunt lot, aren't they?" Voldemort chuckled again. "To
so bluntly ask such a thing is to malign my character, you know? In polite
society, one is expected to follow social cues and risk such a poisoning by
detecting from their hosts actions whether they might be about to be poisoned."
"I am aware," Hermione replied evenly. "However, it would be folly to do
anything other than mistrust you. You are, after all, well known."
"And as waspishly eloquent as Severus, too," Voldemort smirked. "Come, let us
not reach the portion of the evening where my request that you join me in
sitting becomes a command, Hermione Granger. I am not known for my patience,
after all."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, having no doubt that he meant he'd use the Imperius
curse on her to make her cooperate if need be. Crossing the room warily,
watching as he lowered her wand back into his lap, Hermione moved until she was
able to perch on the edge of the chair. She watched as he waved his hand,
silently and wordlessly levitating his chair and causing it to spin until they
were facing one another whilst both seated.
"Tea?" he offered politely, levitating a freshly brewed pot over the two cups
and pouring them. Hermione inclined her head, her frown deepening at his
manners. "Milk or sugar?"
"One and a dash, please," she said, finding herself resorting to her own
manners when he was being so refined.
She watched him fix his own tea, too, before he lifted it to his lips and drank
deeply. Hermione waited for him to swallow, and then to smile at her, his eyes
just daring her to drink with him. Reaching for her bravery, and supposing that
it would be better a quick death via poison than any other torturous end he
might offer her, Hermione carefully picked up her cup and lifted it to her
lips, taking a small sip to wet her mouth and having to clamp down on the urge
to gulp down the liquid in order to warm her chilled form and relieve the parch
of her throat.
"Now," Voldemort said, looking wickedly amused by her bravery. "You and I have
much to discuss, Hermione Granger. The foremost of which regards the nature of
your relationship with Severus."
"Professor Snape and I have no relationship," Hermione said evenly, setting her
cup back on her saucer and trying to resist the urge she had to fling it at
him.
Voldemort tutted, steepling his fingers once more.
"Hermione, it does not do that we lie to one another. Denying any relationship
with Severus is a lie, and one that achieves very little. Just as I will not
deny my intention to subject you to some of my less than polite habits, you
will not deny your association with my most valued spy. Understood?"
"It's not a lie," Hermione smiled meanly. "Severus Snape is a teacher at
Hogwarts and I am a student. For six years I have attended his lessons and
often defied him when it suited me."
"You have been engaging in coitus with him," Voldemort said.
"True," Hermione inclined her head, though she wondered how he knew that. Had
Snape told him? Was Harry right in thinking that Snape's intrigue with her was
born of an order from the very wizard seated before her? "However, engaging in
sex does not automatically equate to having a relationship. He is my teacher,
and I have had sex with him. There is no more to it."
"No?" he asked. "So, it would be incorrect of me to assume that you are
attracted to him?"
"No," Hermione shook her head. "I make it a habit to avoid having sex with
those I'm unattracted to."
"And just as specifically literal as him when he's feeling contrary, too,"
Voldemort murmured, eyeing her like she was some intriguing experiment he was
examining under glass. "Allow me to rephrase. You are romantically intrigued by
Severus and have been for months. You find his voice and his hands and his
wicked little smirk alluring, and you have, on more than one occasion, wondered
if anything might ever come of you crush."
Hermione's cheeks stained crimson.
"Begging your pardon, Lord Voldemort," she choked out. "But what has any of
that to do with you?"
"Everything," he said, a mean little smile affixing itself upon his hideous
face. "You see, my understanding of your character is that you are a mudblood.
One who has befriended Harry Potter and several known Blood Traitors. You have
made a name for yourself among your peers as being particularly clever and
highly logical. You have also aligned yourself with the likes of werewolves,
house-elves, giants, and other half-breeds. You are aligned with the Order of
the Phoenix, and you champion a fight against whatever you deem to be prejudice
within our world, no?"
Hermione supposed it would be contrary to balk over his description of her as a
mudblood when it seemed clear he meant the very basest of definitions, in that
both of her parents were muggles. He didn't seem to be using the word
maliciously with the intent to insult her, and so she didn't allow herself to
rise to the bait.
"Does my character intrigue you so?" she asked mildly, reaching for her tea-cup
again and lifting it to her lips, regarding him over the rim. "I suppose I
ought to be flattered. A muggle-born witch known to Lord Voldemort, leader of
the blood-manic tyranny bent of the subjugation of muggles and any other
magical being, not a wizard. Such an honour I've been bestowed."
"You know, I tolerate the silver-tongued sarcasm of Severus and Lucius, Miss
Granger, for they are pledged to me and they amuse me. It would be unwise of
you to assume you hold such high regard as to be permitted the same liberties."
Here, Hermione laughed. She didn't mean to, but the idea of being so properly
chastised amused her more that it should.
"I beg your pardon, Lord Voldemort," she said, giggling a little. "I will
endeavour to keep my sarcasm to a minimum. However, you are holding me in high
enough regard to have learned so many interesting facts about my character, and
so one must be left to wonder just what has prompted such interest from a man
who, by all accounts, believes that people like me are fit for nothing better
than slavery, degradation, and death. What could I possibly have done to have
so captured your attention?"
"Severus," Voldemort answered, sipping his own tea once more.
"You take issue with his choice of bed-partner?" she asked.
"Often," Voldemort nodded.
"Dear Merlin, you're not uh… going to torture me for stepping on your
territory, are you? Fancy him, do you?"
He narrowed his terrible red eyes on her. "Miss Granger, I will not warn you
about the extent of my patience again," he said, apparently annoyed with her.
"Now, you have drawn my attention because of your relationship with Severus for
one reason, and one reason only. You see, everything about your character would
suggest that aligning yourself with a Death Eater – even for so brief a tryst
as a casual sexual encounter – suggests a certain willingness to overlook that
which others of your position revile, scorn, and openly attack, no?"
"You want to know why someone like me might shag someone like him?" Hermione
raised her eyebrows. "You had me kidnapped to find out why I'd shag him?"
He inclined his head, awaiting an explanation.
"Would you like a justification or a defence of my actions?" Hermione asked
quietly. "I'm not sure I can offer either."
"You have seen Severus's tattoo, no?" he asked, frowning a little. "You know he
is a Death Eater, loyal to me and my cause."
"I've seen his Dark Mark," Hermione chose her words carefully.
"And you understand that he earned it long before Albus Dumbledore brought him
under his wing and foolishly believed Severus might turn traitor to me and his
fellow Death Eaters?" Voldemort pushed.
"I am aware that there are certain aspects of his past, and his present, that
my friends take issue with, and that his past indiscretions are undoubtedly
things that would turn my stomach," Hermione said, wondering what he was
getting at.
"And yet, you are still infatuated."
"I never said I was infatuated," Hermione protested.
"You didn't have to," Voldemort smiled indulgently again. "It's all right there
in the forefront of your mind. I don't even have to dig for it. You are
attracted to Severus. You fancy him, despite knowing what he is – perhaps
even because of what he is. And I wonder how that can be when you are so
obviously a morally good person. Unprejudiced. Logical. Self-righteous.
Virtuous. These are your attributes. Yet you are drawn to a man whose soul is
blackened by Dark magic and whose moral compass is thoroughly corrupt. Someone
cruel. Cold. Wicked. Merciless. Dark."
Hermione nodded slowly, supposing that there was little point denying her crush
when he apparently could see inside her head enough to find it with ease.
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps blatant honestly would be best.
"I am," she admitted. "I cannot explain why. I could detail that his cruel
sense of humour is as clever as it is creative. I could discuss his loyalty, or
his wicked ability to unsettle those around him without uttering a single word.
He is powerful. He is… interesting. I enjoy his rapier wit as much as I enjoyed
carnal delight in his embrace. I cannot pinpoint why I'm fascinated by him; I
can simply accept it and act upon it. As I have done."
"Indeed," Voldemort said quietly, falling silent as he regarded her, still
looking morbidly curious in a way that unnerved her.
"May I ask why that intrigues you?" she asked.
He tipped his head, still watching her before he smiled widely.
"It calls into question your loyalty to Potter," he said.
"My loyalty will always lie with Harry," Hermione hissed, stung by the
accusation. "The scratching of a proverbial itch does not negate my loyalty to
him."
Voldemort laughed.
"And what of his loyalty to you, Hermione Granger?" he asked. "Do you think
Harry Potter will be forgiving when he learns you have been allowing my dour
and wicked Potions Master to crawl between your thighs? When you have been
lying to him about doing so? Come, you know the boy well, yes? You tell me. Is
Harry Potter going to forgive you when he finds out you've been fucking a Death
Eater?"
Hermione blinked in surprise as the crassness and the amount of venom in that
final line and she narrowed her eyes.
"I had no intention of telling him," she said evenly.
Voldemort's smile grew positively lascivious and he leaned forward in his
chair.
"It would be a mistake to imagine that your will might come before mine,
Hermione," he said softly.
"You mean to out my secret?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "To what end? Surely
hurting Harry would more effectively be achieved by killing me, than by simply
telling him of my indiscretions?"
"Do you imagine that I've reached the power and gained the following I have
collected by ruthlessly and thoughtlessly murdering any who might annoy me,
Miss Granger?" Voldemort asked. "You are well educated, for a mudblood. You
have a firm grasp on the circumstance of my last rise to power. You tell me why
it will be far more painful for Potter to have to look at you everyday knowing
you're nothing but a Death Eater's whore, rather than by allowing him the
rallying point and outrage of offering you a swift end."
Hermione felt dread twist in the pit of her stomach, realising instantly that
while her death would wound Harry and her friends, seeing her with Severus –
knowing what she had done and might very well still be doing – would torment
them far worse. Like a throbbing thumb hit with a hammer and bumping on
everything, it would be a constant reminder of the pain, rather than simply
lopping the digit off.
"You mean to set me free, then?" she asked quietly.
"Oh, yes," Voldemort smirked. "Your wand will be returned to you in short order
and you will soon be set free to return to your precious Order. Even now, they
scramble to protect Potter and to rescue you from my clutches. Imagine their
horror as they imagine what you might endure under my care when they can't see
any of the usual signs of torture. Imagine their distrust when I send you back
into the midst. Will they think you a spy, under the Imperius curse and
reporting back to me? Will they think you some broken, fragile doll, shattered
and destroyed in the clutches of my wicked Death Eaters. Will Molly Weasley,
the wretched blood traitor, still imagine a life where you'll be her daughter-
in-law when she finds out you've been soiled by the Dark?"
Hermione hated the way her eyes stung with the urge to cry, realising that he
wouldn't just be punishing them, but would also be punishing her. He would
isolate her from her friends and make her something sad and terrible in their
eyes. Harry would hate her if he found out about her and Snape. Ron might
already know, but she was no fool. She knew that Ron would fear she'd been
raped and tortured. She knew that Molly had been holding out hope that she and
Ron would be a couple, one day. She knew that the likes of Remus and Tonks and
Ginny would look at her pityingly, wondering what she had endured and likely
would refuse to speak about.
"What do you mean to do to me before sending me back?" she asked softly,
doubting he would simply return her unscathed.
He smirked at her, a terrible, almost proud smile that made her feel like a
stupid child he was indulging.
"Nothing you can't handle, Hermione," he said just as softly. "Nothing you
won't revel in. Nothing you haven't secretly longed for, deep in your heart."
Hermione's stomach twisted with dread.
"Tell me, what do you think of this place?" he asked abruptly, his sinister
promise forgotten and his shoulders squaring as he suddenly got to his feet. He
offered her his hand like a proper gentleman, apparently intending to give her
a tour or lead her somewhere.
Hermione eyed the appendage like it were a live snake and he raised his
eyebrows in silent challenge. Or he would have done, she supposed, suddenly
noticing that much like his head was bald, his brow-ridges bore no hair.
Perhaps the result of whatever serpentine traits he'd picked up in his return
to human form. She could tell from his expression that he would not tolerate
the insult of her refusing his assistance and Hermione shuddered as she reached
out, putting her small hand inside his and allowing him to help her to her
feet. His skin was cold to touch, and the very thought of his skin against hers
turned her stomach.
"Brave little mudblood, aren't you?" he asked. "Definitely Severus's type."
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"Where is Severus?" she asked him.
"Oh, you'll see him soon enough, I'm sure," Voldemort smiled. "Now come. A tour
of this lovely dwelling is in order."
He led her across the room, tucking her arm through his elbow and escorting her
like some dapper gentleman of old. Hermione felt ill, but she didn't dare pull
her hand away as he led her through a door and down a narrow corridor. The
design of the house seemed to be gothic-Victorian and Hermione noted the dark
colours of everything, wondering why it was that villains insisted on darkness
and dampness and a complete lack of taste.
"The grounds are lovely in the winter, no?" he asked, leading her down the hall
and through another doorway into a long, open room with an impressively sized
dining table. One entire wall was filled up with windows that overlooked a
breathtaking garden, even whilst shrouded in snow. He led her to the window,
letting her look out and Hermione couldn't deny that he was right. There was a
small lake in the distance, but the foreground was filled with perfectly
manicured gardens, a fantastic polished marble fountain in the shape of a
rearing herd of unicorns, and a hedge maze.
"Where are we?" Hermione asked, breathless with the view, the world blanketed
in gleaming white snow that was utterly undisturbed.
"Selwyn Hall," he told her. "Not far from Stonehaven."
Hermione frowned.
"This is the home of that family who was slaughtered down to the last child?"
she asked.
"No longer," Voldemort said. "In fact, it is the home Severus is poised to
inherit. Glorious, no?"
"It's lovely," Hermione said tightly, the swirling pit of dread inside her
stomach begin to roil and bubble terribly.
"Come, I will show you to your quarters," Voldemort hummed, seeming pleased.
Hermione suspected he could feel her mount dread and was amused by it.
"My quarters?" she asked, alarmed.
"Unless you'd prefer to return to the dungeons?" he offered. "Only, you've been
down there for almost three full days and so you're beginning to smell."
Hermione blanched.
"Three days?" she hissed. "I was unconscious for three days?"
"Antonin was a little overzealous when he knocked you on the head," Voldemort
said, as though that were the only cause for her concern.
"You've been holding me captive for three days?" she demanded, pulling her arm
out of his grip to glare at the Dark wizard hatefully, preparing now to lose
her temper.
"Indeed," he answered imperiously. "And I'll have you know, Hermione Granger,
that I'm rather put out with you for taking quite so long to wake up. I have a
very busy schedule and catering to the healing time of mudbloods is rarely a
priority of mine."
"My apologies for inconveniencing you. Next time, perhaps don't have me
kidnapped and beaten over the head," she snarled, glaring at him hatefully.
She jumped back in fright when he began to laugh and clapped his hands together
like a small boy, apparently delighted by her responses.
"So like Severus when you lose your temper," he said cheerfully. "I am so
looking forward to your reunion with him."
"Will that be soon?" Hermione demanded.
"Just as soon as you've washed up and dressed yourself. If you would permit me
to continue escorting you to your quarters, you will find that everything is
laid out and ready for you in preparation for this evening."
"This evening?" she asked, not at all liking the gleam in those red eyes.
"Oh yes, Hermione, my friend," he said, smiling almost gently now. "This
evening you'll be attending a fine Christmas dinner at Malfoy Manor alongside
myself, Severus, the Malfoys and the entire cohort of my loyal Death Eaters.
Won't that be fun?"
Hermione had to lunge for the nearest window and crack it open, leaning through
the gap when the limited contents of her roiling stomach decided to make a
reappearance.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
"Is there any word, Severus?" Albus asked quietly across the dining table at
Grimmauld Place while the entirety of the Order were seated and fuming, beside
themselves with worry. No member had been excused due to age on this meeting.
Severus had only just managed to return from Malfoy Manor and the debauchery
he'd been sucked into on the Dark Lord's Orders.
He paced restlessly back and forth in front of the fireplace, trying to bring
his body temperature back to something that vaguely resembled normal. He had
been forced to retreat deeper and deeper into his Occlumency as the Dark Lord
toyed with him, and his brethren geared up in preparation for the Lordship
ceremony that would pass the ownership of Selwyn Hall to him.
"The Dark Lord is holding her somewhere," Severus said quietly, continuing to
pace without looking at any of them. "I have not been entrusted with the
location, though I suspect that he means to reveal her this evening."
"This evening?" Albus pushed, having asked all the others to remain silent and
allow him to question Severus.
"He is hosting a Yuletide dinner at Malfoy Manor," Severus said. "Attendance
has been made mandatory for every Death Eater, every sympathizer to the cause,
and every member of their families, down to the last child."
"He means to kill them?" Albus asked, looking alarmed.
Severus snorted.
"If he plans to sacrifice anyone this evening, it will undoubtedly be one know-
it-all little mudblood," Severus sneered abrasively, and several people hissed
at him for the term. "Based on Narcissa and Lucius's knowledge of the event, I
don't believe he means for this evening to be a grisly affair. It is Christmas,
after all. A time for giving. Tonight marks the beginning of the week long
celebration in the lead up to the Dark Lord's birthday."
"You believe Hermione will be in attendance?" Albus asked, and Severus caught
the way he had to flick his wand at Potter to Silence him when the boy opened
his mouth, set to explode.
"And dressed up like a fine china doll for all to gawk at," Severus growled.
"She will not enjoy this evening. I do not know where she has been held or what
she has endured since her capture. All I have managed to learn is that the Dark
Lord summoned one of Narcissa's personal elves this evening, intent on
enlisting her assistance to make Miss Granger presentable."
"You suspect he has a purpose for capturing her and presenting her to the
brethren?" Albus asked, his brow furrowing, and Severus glanced over to meet
the old man's gaze. There was no twinkle in those blue eyes this evening.
"It's a time for giving, Albus," Severus said in a low voice. "He means to
give me Selwyn Hall as a lavish Christmas gift."
"That has nothing to do with Hermione," Weasley interrupted, obviously missing
the silent conversation carrying on between Severus and Albus.
"You believe he means to initiate the rituals of Old Magic to ensure your
Lordship?" Albus said, his eyes widening.
All around the table the older generation of witches and wizards gasped in
horror, recoiling from the very idea.
"He likes for things to be done properly," Severus sneered.
"Severus, no," Minerva said, her lower lip trembling.
"You believe he means to utilise Granger for the task?" Moody asked, and
Severus fought the urge to fling hexes at all of them and flee the room,
realising he was on the brink of revealing his indiscretions with the girl.
"I can see no other reason for him to have captured her and to be planning to
invite her to dinner. Were she to be the sport of the evening, she would not be
invited to sit at the table. The scandal of inviting a muggle-born to sit
alongside pureblood families that date back centuries will not be for nothing."
"Severus, no!" Minerva whispered harshly, he eyes filling. "Not the girl."
Severus clenched his fist, looking away from her tortured expression and into
the flames.
"What's he going to do?" Ron Weasley asked in a low voice. "What does a
Lordship ceremony in the Old Magic entail that might call for someone like
Hermione?"
"It's a blood ceremony," Lupin spoke up. "One that calls for a human sacrifice.
To engage in Lordship the candidate in question must perform the human
sacrifice and must… Severus, he means to have you marry, as well?"
Severus didn't dare look at any of them.
"Whom?" Minerva asked, her voice tight.
"I'm told that the Dark Lord has also been meeting regularly with Alecto
Carrow," Severus bit out, reaching for a half-drunk bottle of whiskey on the
mantle above the fire and twisting the lid off furiously.
"He means to have you sacrifice Hermione and marry Carrow?" Minerva gasped. "We
have to save her!"
Severus's gut twisted, and he peered over his shoulder, once again meeting
Albus's gaze. The old man's eyes widened when he realised what Severus was
implying with that single look.
"Severus," he said. "You cannot be serious."
Severus tipped the bottle to his lips.
"What?" Weasley asked. "Serious about what?"
Severus would give it to the brat, for someone usually so unobservant, he was
proving sharp this evening.
"Severus, why?" Albus asked the most important question.
His laugh was dark and cruel, his back to all of them.
"Does it matter?" Severus asked. "I cannot save her. The Dark Lord is
determined."
Molly Weasley burst into tears. "Oh, my poor girl," she sobbed into her
husband's shoulder and Severus fought the urge to inform them all that there
was nothing poor about her and that she'd probably enjoy every minute of the
ceremony when it commenced.
"What is it?" Potter finally threw off the silencing charm. "What's going to
happen to Hermione?"
"Harry…" Lupin began gently. "She… Gods, Severus. There's nothing you can do to
save her?"
Severus peered over at the wolf. "Not unless you'd like to crawl in there and
fight Greyback before stealing her away."
"I'll do it," Lupin said immediately. "Where is she being held?"
"No clue," Severus said, his mouth twisting angrily. "I won't know where she is
until she's presented to the brethren at dinner this evening at Malfoy Manor."
"I could go in your stead," Lupin offered. "Polyjuice potion. I could snatch
her away."
"Even in my skin, Greyback would smell you for what you truly are," Severus
reminded him. "You would be in the midst of the entire court and all of their
families. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people. You would not escape with
your life, Lupin, and Granger would lose hers in the scuffle."
Remus deflated, his brow pulling down into a terrible frown.
"Is he going to kill her?" Potter asked. "I swear to Merlin, Snape, if you kill
Hermione, I'll pull you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left."
The whole table was silent for a long moment at the boy's dark threat and
Severus turned toward him slowly, his lips curling back into a terrible grimace
that looked almost like a cruel smile.
"Oh, the Dark Lord doesn't intend to have me kill her, Potter," Severus
practically purred. "You imagine he can't tell the difference between the brief
sting of killing off someone you love over returning her to you broken and
ruined?"
Potter frowned.
"Severus, you can't mean…" Minerva gasped, and Severus narrowed his eyes before
lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips once more and skolling the contents in
one.
His eyes were closed as he drank, and so he didn't see the attack coming until
someone took him by the throat, propelling him backward until he hit the wall.
Severus's eyes sprang open and he dug his wand into the ribs of the wizard
choking him, expecting Potter. He frowned in surprise when the angry blue eyes
and dull red hair of Ronald Weasley filled his gaze.
Ah, so the ex-lover of the girl did care for her.
"If you do anything to make this harder for her than it needs to be, I'm going
to put you in the ground, Snape," Weasley snarled as some of his family members
rose to their feet in surprise at his attack. "I don't care who you have to
hurt, or how you have to defy your Dark Lord, you bring Hermione back to us,
whole and unhurt and as annoyingly bossy as she can possibly be or so help me,
the things that you and your Death Eater buddies do to people will look like
child's play in comparison to the hell I'll unleash on you. Do you understand?
I think we both know exactly what you're going to have to do to save her, and
exactly why she's in this mess to begin with, and if you don't get her out of
there safe, then don't you bother coming back at all. You got me?"
Severus eyed the young wizard hatefully, realising as he listened to the boy's
threats that he knew. He knew why Granger had been taken. He knew Severus had
been fucking her.
"She told you," he said quietly, frowning.
"She tells me everything," Weasley retorted.
"Mr Weasley, unhand Severus at once," Minerva barked when the boy glared into
his face, just daring Severus to deny it or to hex him. He itched with the urge
to do just that, aching with the need to take his fury and his impotence in
this situation out on someone.
He wouldn't let it be this boy, no matter that he deserved it for daring to
threaten him and daring to touch him. He wouldn't take his fury out on Miss
Granger's closest confidant. She would be in need of him when – if – Severus
managed to snatch her out of the Dark Lord's clutches alive. Shoving Weasley
back with all of his considerable strength, the boy stumbled across the room
and collided with the table while Severus straightened his robes before glaring
down his nose at them all when a few of the Order members glared at him for his
rough treatment of the younger wizard.
Before he could open his mouth to argue with Weasley's suggestion, or sneer at
him over what Miss Granger would become, searing pain shot through his left
forearm and Severus hissed, clutching the Dark Mark concealed under his sleeve
and gritting his teeth against the agony. It seemed the Dark Lord was in high
spirits and feeling overzealous to see them.
"Severus?" Albus said quietly when a few people muttered in surprise over his
sudden show of pain.
Severus darted his gaze to the old man's, waiting for whatever parting words
the old sod might offer him before he could walk to his demise.
"In order for the ritual Tom is planning to work, Miss Granger would have to
agree to this of her own volition," Albus said quietly. "Are you sure you can
save her?"
Severus felt his lips twist into a truly wicked smirk, stung by the insinuation
that the little swot might not agree to whatever he had to do to get her out of
there alive.
"Believe me, Albus," Severus drawled wickedly. "Miss Granger is always
entirely willing where I'm concerned."
Minerva gasped in a choked breath, looking appalled, and around the table many
of his colleagues all looked horrified and like he'd just declared himself a
lascivious cad.
"What have you done to Hermione?" Potter snarled, shooting to his feet as
Severus began rounding the table, heading for the door.
When he reached where Potter stood, Severus leaned in, sneering coldly at the
Chosen One.
"Only those things she begged of me," he drawled cruelly. "And you can rest
assured, Mr Potter, she begs like an angel."
"You bastard!" Potter shouted, flinging a hex at him. "You're lying!"
Severus laughed, blocking the hex with ease and raising his eyebrows.
"Am I?" he asked.
"I'll kill you for this," Potter snarled at him. "How dare you besmirch
Hermione's character just to make yourself feel better about the things you'll
have to do to bring her back?"
Severus laughed coldly. "Potter, I'm certain that you have no real grasp on
Miss Granger's character at all. You claim to be her best friend, but you don't
even know what she likes or who she fucks. In your arrogance, you've merely
assumed you know the type of witch she is becoming. You presume that she is all
goodness and light and cleverness and that she'd never so much as peek into the
Restricted Section of the library. You assume she'd never break the rules
unless you're influencing her."
Potter's left eye twitched and Severus smirked.
"I'll bet you imagined her to be a prudish little virgin, too," Severus
taunted, unable to hold his tongue when his arm was throbbing, and he'd been
drinking, and he was about to walk to a fate that would either have him
murdering or marrying the very witch he spoke of. "Believe me, Mr
Potter, that is very far from the truth. It is that arrogance that the Dark
Lord seeks to exploit as he rubs your nose in the fact that your sweet, clever
little friend isn't so loyal after all. He'll send her back to you tainted and
infected with the Darkness she's become so intrigued with, and he'll revel in
your torment when you arrogantly assume that her capture was all your fault.
The witch I'll return to this very house will not be the girl you thought she
was, and when you inevitably recoil from her in disgust for her choices and her
associations it will be me who'll have to put her back together."
"Severus, enough," Albus intervened when Potter's wand arm twitched and his
face twisted with fury like he might curse him.
"If I were you, I'd see to it that the girl's parents are fetched and ready to
receive her should I manage to save her from death, Albus," Severus said
coldly. "The things she will endure before she is permitted to return are
things that will make her cry for her mother."
With that said, and his teeth gritted against another wave of pain emanating
from his Dark Mark, Severus stalked out of Grimmauld Place, bracing himself for
the horror to come and hating himself for the Darkness whispering inside his
head that it was going to be the night of his life.
***** Chapter Thirteen *****
                               Chapter Thirteen
===============================================================================
Hermione scrubbed herself thoroughly in the shower, trying her hardest to
remove the feel of Voldemort's cold flesh from her skin. She was trembling as
she stood there scrubbing, terrified that she was going to be killed or
tortured in short order, and it was hard not to draw out her shower even longer
just to avoid having to be escorted to Malfoy Manor.
She needed to escape, but without her wand, she could do little. There was a
fireplace in her room, but when she'd tried using her Floo powder to escape
through it, nothing had happened. She suspected all the fires had been
disconnected from the Floo in just such an event that she might try to escape,
and she'd cursed a blue streak before submitting to the urge to warm up and
rinse off in the shower.
She had a terrible, sinking feeling that whatever Voldemort planned to do to
her would be public and painful, and likely something she would have to spend
the rest of her life living down. As such she had decided to do her damnedest
to ensure that those who would witness her misfortune would have little to
snigger over. She'd trimmed and shaved, and otherwise primped, and she was
scrubbing her skin hard enough to turn it pink all over.
When she finally climbed out of the shower and towelled off, Hermione shrieked
in surprise to find a house-elf waiting for her in the bedroom.
"Good evening, Miss," the elf curtsied to her. "The Dark Lord is be telling
Misty to ensure you is perfect for your dinner party and so Misty has
everything prepared. Please, sit."
"Misty, are you able to get me out of here?" Hermione asked the elf, thinking
quickly and wondering if, like Dobby, this elf would prefer to be free.
Misty shook her head so hard that her ears flapped.
"Misty is be doing as she told and Misty be told to fix the Miss. Sit!" the elf
stomped one of her little feet and Hermione was shocked by the show of rudeness
from the creature.
Narrowing her eyes, but doing as she'd been told, Hermione crossed the room and
lowered herself onto the dressing table stool, eyeing the elf in the mirror.
"Such uncontrolled curls," Misty clucked her tongue before snapping her
fingers, instantly drying Hermione's hair into perfect, smooth ringlets. "You
is be needing it styled up, Misty thinks. The Masters will prefer it if it's
up. Won't be in the way."
The elf seemed to be muttering mostly to herself even as she dug her fingers
into Hermione's hair and began twisting it into an elaborate up-do that she
pinned in place with a collection of jewelled clips. Hermione narrowed her eyes
on their blue colouration.
"Are those sapphires?" she asked of the elf.
"Yes, Miss," said Misty. "The Mistress be picking them out just for you."
"Who is your mistress?" Hermione wanted to know.
"Mistress Cissy," aid the elf.
Hermione frowned, wondering why Narcissa Malfoy might deem to send her an elf
and some sapphire pins to make her look pretty for the dinner.
"Turn, Miss," the elf said, snapping her fingers and making Hermione's stool
rotate.
Before Hermione could protest, the elf began attacking her face with make-up,
painting her like a pretty china doll complete with winged eyes, blue and
silver eye-shadow, enough foundation to conceal literally anything, and lips so
ruby red, they almost looked black.
"Isn't this a bit much?" Hermione asked.
"Mistress be telling Misty what to do, and Misty does it. Miss looks lovely."
"Why must I be so primped for dinner?" Hermione wanted to know.
"Not just dinner, Miss. You is be the guest of honour. You is be looking your
best, Misty makes sure."
Hermione didn't like the sound of being anyone's guest of honour.
"Up now," the elf said. "You is be needing your dress."
"I don't have any other clothes," Hermione told the elf.
Misty rolled her eyes and tugged Hermione to her feet, twisting her around to
face the corner of the room. There, upon a mannequin, stood a gown of pure
starlight. Silk of the brightest silver shaped perfectly into a Victorian-era-
meets-Princess dress glittered with tiny jewels and intricate lace.
"I can't wear that," Hermione breathed, awed by the sight of the garment. The
sleeves were three quarter, sheer and white. The bodice was boning, overlayed
with brilliant silk, and glittering with jewels. The skirt was wide and flared,
heavy layers of tulle pushing the silk into a wide and puffy shape before the
overlay of silk made it gleam like starlight.
"Nonsense," Misty said. "It be designed just for you. Miss wears."
With a snap of the elf's fingers the bathrobe was peeled from Hermione's
shoulders and she eyed the elf in annoyance.
"I haven't any clean knickers," she said.
"You is not being permitted knickers," the elf shrugged, levitating the dress
over and using magic to ensconce Hermione's body with their fabric.
"Shoes next," the elf chirped before Hermione could catch her breath or even
look in the mirror.
She was pushed back into her seat and the elf fastened a pair of jewel-
encrusted death traps with six-inch heels to her feet. Cushioning charms,
courtesy of Misty, were applied to them and Hermione sighed at the difference
they made.
"There," the elf sighed finally. "Miss is ready."
Hermione got to her feet, crossing the room to stand in front of a mirror in
the corner. She barely believed it was her own reflection when she laid eyes
upon herself. She looked wicked and sensual and entirely too much like bride
for her own comfort.
"Thank you, Misty," Hermione said in a soft voice, trying not to cry when it
occurred to her that perhaps Voldemort had no intention of allowing her to
return to the Order without first tying her to a member of his brethren. His
interest in her relationship with Snape suddenly called into sharp focus what
he seemed to have planned for her.
Hermione loathed that though her stomach was twisting in knots, she also felt a
seductive thrill of excitement lick through her veins.
"I fetch the Master," Misty bowed, smiling proudly. "Miss looks beautiful."
She disapparated with a sharp crack and Hermione was left alone in the bedroom
with only her thoughts and her reflection to keep her company. She had a
sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that though no one had asked her,
this was to be her wedding night. She didn't dare contemplate what that might
entail, or what Voldemort hoped to achieve by tying her to Severus Snape. She
certainly hoped that was his plan rather than that he was going to torture her
and have her killed. The lack on undergarments worried her and Hermione
desperately hoped they weren't going to rape her.
She needed to get out, but she didn't see a way. She would simply have to ride
out this wicked plan that Lord Voldemort had cooked up to see where it would
all end. Admiring her reflection, Hermione bit her lip, knowing she'd never
looked so pretty and knowing that she might never look so nice, ever again.
A knock on her door sounded before she could cry, and Hermione squared her
shoulders, more determined than ever that they wouldn't see her cry or witness
any weakness from her. She suspected that was what they wanted, and she refused
to allow it. They would not see her weak! Crossing the room, Hermione opened
the door, blinking in horror and surprise to find Voldemort on the other side.
He was dressed in formal black robes, fitted perfectly to his powerful frame.
His red eyes travelled over her slowly from head to toe, taking in the jewels
in her hair and sweeping the full length of her body to spy the jewels on her
shoes. When he met her gaze, his lips twitched as though he wanted to smile.
"My, won't Severus be surprised?" he practically purred.
"I should think so," Hermione agreed, and she watched the way his eyes narrowed
ever so slightly.
"Come along then, Hermione, my friend. It would seem we've a dinner to attend,"
he said, offering her his arm, apparently intent on escorting her once more.
Hermione wanted to shudder and tell him he could shove his escort and his
dinner up his bum, but she bit her tongue on the urge, stepping across the
threshold and into the corridor, accepting the arm he offered to her.
She wasn't expecting the jerk behind her navel when he disapparated them both
with a sharp crack and Hermione hoped she wouldn't ruin her dress by vomiting
when they landed on the lawn of what must surely be Malfoy Manor.
Despite the gothic theme of the looming mansion, every window seeing to be
alight with music and laughter, and from the outside, looking in, not yet
knowing just who or what awaited within, it looked inviting.
"Beautiful, no?" Voldemort asked quietly.
"Only when one looks at the surface," Hermione replied softly. "Like a shiny
red apple just begging me to take a bite and expose the wormy, poisoned flesh
within."
Voldemort smiled.
"And soon they shall be a part of you, and you, a part of them."
"You mean to marry me to Severus?" she asked, and Voldemort actually paused,
mid-stride, glancing at her.
"So, you are as clever as the rumours say," Voldemort said, seeming intrigued.
"Oh yes, I intend to wed you to one of my followers. Severus, however, is free
to choose which bride he would like."
"There is more than one choice?" Hermione asked, her heart skipping a beat with
worry.
"Oh, yes," Voldemort smiled. "I am not so barbaric as to deprive anyone of
their free will. Weddings, after all, must be entered into willingly in order
for them to be binding."
"How unfortunate for you that I'm unwilling," Hermione replied evenly, meeting
his gaze hatefully.
"Are you?" he asked, smiling. "Legilimency, Hermione Granger, does not stop at
the ruthless invasion of the mind. It is a constant sense of the emotions those
around us feel. I know that for all your fear and your fury over what is to
come, there is a part of you that trembles and thrills at the thought of
marrying Severus tonight. If you are lucky, he will pick you."
"And if he doesn't?" Hermione asked quietly.
Voldemort trailed his eyes over her gown once more, making her skin crawl.
"It will be shame to get so much blood on so fine a dress," he smiled widely,
the incarnation of cruelty and Hermione gulped audibly. "Now come, we've a
wedding feast to attend."
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Severus looked up as a hush fell over everyone where they were gathered in the
ball room, awaiting the arrival of the Dark Lord. The chilling presence of the
Dark Lord fluttered through the crowd and Severus tipped his head, watching the
Dark Lord make his entrance.
He wasn't alone.
The witch on his arm was young and beautiful, a perfect embodiment of fragility
and sensuality combined, that made his cock twitch inside his trousers. He knew
the curves ensconced in that dress. Her wild mane of chocolate curls had been
tamed into a stylish knot, adorned with sapphires that sparkled in the
firelight. She stood proud, her shoulders back, her chin raised, her eyes just
daring anyone to attack her or ridicule her for her capture, her blood status,
or her looking so much like a perfectly painted doll.
She seemed unhurt, Severus noted with a niggling sense of relief, though she
looked thinner than he recalled. She had her arm looped through that of the
Dark Lord and Severus smirked just the tiniest bit when he noticed that though
she stood there, bold as brass, it was clear to him that she'd like to be
anywhere else. Not that his fellow Death Eaters would know that. They'd never
seen the expression she wore when she was right where she wanted to be, but
Severus had seen the wicked little smile she wore when she was pleased about
something, and this wasn't it.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the large number of gathered people
present and seeming a little surprised. She must've only been expecting the
marked Death Eaters to be in attendance and she seemed a little wrong-footed as
a result. In his mask, Severus doubted the girl would recognise him and her
eyes did slide past before skidding back. She widened her eyes slightly,
perhaps in silent invitation that he invade her mind to communicate with her,
but Severus knew the Dark Lord would be expecting it and refrained.
"Well," Lucius drawled, sauntering up next to him as everyone fell silent, many
of them not recognising the girl. "I almost envy you, Severus. She does scrub
up nicely, I suppose. Though that defiant glint in her eyes might get her
killed."
Lucius sipped his whiskey, eyeing Severus curiously. Severus concealed his
thoughts and made certain to keep his expression blank. If the Dark Lord
thought him too intent on saving the girl by marrying her, he'd force him to
choose Carrow instead.
"My friends," the Dark Lord said pleasantly, speaking over the sudden silence
that filled the hall as they all stared at him and the mostly unknown witch
upon his arm. "Shall we commence with dinner?"
There was a murmur of assent and Severus watched as the families of the
brethren and the sympathisers were shown to the dining hall first. When only
the immediate brethren remained, the Dark Lord escorted Granger down the stairs
and Severus made a mental note to congratulate her that she never faltered or
stumbled in her heels.
"What have we here, my Lord?" Bella asked, her tone alight with jealousy.
"Potter's mudblood," the Dark Lord replied. "Hermione, won't you say hello to
my friends?"
Severus watched her for signs that she was under the Imperius curse, shocked
just a little when she gave a very proper-seeming curtsey and inclined her head
politely.
"Good evening," she said, her voice low and cool, utterly detached.
"Granger?" Draco asked softly, seeming shocked to realise it was actually her.
Severus supposed she did look different.
"Good evening, Draco," Hermione spoke politely before stepping out of the Dark
Lord's grip – to his apparent surprise – and reaching a hand for Draco's face.
The boy seemed so shocked by her appearance in their midst that he didn't
flinch back from her as he ought, given her blood status. Severus wasn't the
only one who watched with morbid curiosity when the girl touched Draco's face,
carefully gripping his chin and turning his head to reveal the faint bruise
over his right eye.
"Fighting again, Malfoy?" she asked, smirking just a little.
"Potter took issue with your disappearance," he retorted, jerking back from her
quickly.
"How valiant of him," Granger said, making no mention of the snog Severus had
witnessed the pair share that had undoubtedly caused her to be late for the
train and might very well have been subterfuge on Draco's part to ensure
Dolohov could capture her.
"Shall we?" she asked when no one spoke, all of them seeming confused by her
presence and her apparent calmness. Severus wondered if she'd been given
Calming Draught, but her pupils weren't dilated, and her eyes were bright,
rather than glassy.
She looked daringly at the Dark Lord and raised her eyebrows, apparently
awaiting escort to the table.
"Eager to begin, Hermione?" the Dark Lord teased, smiling wickedly and causing
a few of his followers to laugh cruelly.
"Famished, actually," she said, sounding bored. "Three days unconscious in a
dungeon tends to leave one feeling rather ravenous and I feel certain that if
anyone knows how to host a decadent and lavish feast, it would be Mrs Malfoy."
The Dark Lord tittered out a laugh and Narcissa stood a little taller, even if
the praise had come from a mudblood.
"I sense no fear from you despite being in the immediate presence of my closest
and most loyal Death Eaters," the Dark Lord murmured, looking intrigued. "Are
you so brave? Or so foolish as to think you are safe in their midst."
Severus almost choked on his sip of whiskey when she laughed softly, a mean
little chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"I am just too hungry to care, one way or the other, what they might do to me,
Lord Voldemort," she replied, drawing hisses from every Death Eater in the
room, Severus included.
"You are a brave little thing," the Dark Lord laughed, and Severus wasn't at
all sure he liked the intrigue on his master's face. "Dinner then, before you
waste away to nothing."
He offered her his elbow once more and Severus looked on as Granger took it
without hesitation. She allowed him to lead her into the room, and Severus
followed behind, watching the girl be led to her seat – directly to the left of
the Dark Lord where Severus himself usually sat. He took the seat beside her,
watching the Dark Lord flick his wand to tuck her chair under her before he
handed over her wand. Severus watched her take it, expecting her to try to
disapparate, or at the very least to attempt a hex.
The girl did nothing. She simply took the weapon and tucked it onto her lap
before primly waiting, back straight, expression blank, to be given permission
to eat. Sitting beside her, Severus curled his foot around her leg, but she
didn't react. She didn't even look at him. He felt a pit of dread begin to
churn in his stomach.
Perhaps she knew.
Everyone was seated before the Dark Lord finally took his seat at the head of
the table. He smiled widely at the gathered group, his Death Eaters the closest
to him at the table. Severus noticed with some annoyance that directly opposite
himself sat Antonin Dolohov – who was leering at Granger – and opposite Granger
sat Alecto Carrow. She was smiling wickedly, also eyeing Granger, and from the
way she was dressed similarly to Granger, only in darker shades of grey, it
seemed that he was going to be expected to choose between the two witches.
Severus felt ill.
"Welcome to our annual yuletide feast," the Dark Lord said regally when
everyone remained silently, awaiting his word. "I feel certain we can trust
that our darling host, Narcissa, has prepared the most delicious of meals, and
I would be loath to keep you from it. Let us feast."
No one moved as the Dark Lord was served his meal, hundreds of elves streaming
into the room and offering entrees to all. His own was placed in front of him –
a creamy pumpkin soup by the smell – and Severus fought the urge to groan in
delight. Narcissa's elves really did make the best food he'd ever eaten and no
matter his concern for Granger or his turmoil over choosing between her and
Carrow, and being forced to marry, his stomach cramped with hunger.
Only when the Dark Lord had dipped in his spoon and eaten the first bite did
everyone else pick up their cutlery. Beside him, Granger didn't say as word as
she delicately took up her spoon and dipped it into her soup before bringing it
to her lips. A twitch of her wand in her lap caught his eye and Severus watched
her cast a repelling charm to ensure she wouldn't spill soup on her fancy
dress. He smirked to himself.
"Now," the Dark Lord said after a few bites, smiling widely. "I presume we all
know each other. Hermione Granger, you are obviously familiar with Severus. And
I feel certain you've no call for introduction with Antonin," he said,
inclining his head toward the Russian, who smirked darkly at the girl he'd
almost killed in June.
"Naturally," Granger said politely. "Despite the blow to the head, I doubt Mr
Dolohov is someone whose face is easy to forget. I do hope I'll remember it
when he is next tried for crimes against the wizarding world."
Severus watched Antonin inhale his soup down the wrong pipe and begin to choke
on it while Hermione delicately spooned another mouthful of her own soup onto
her tongue.
"Indeed," the Dark Lord laughed his terrible laugh. "Though I feel certain that
with my triumph, Antonin will be placed in charge of a sector of the Ministry,
rather than being charged by them."
"Oh?" Granger asked dryly. "You're adding a Capital Punishment division?"
"I hadn't thought about it, but it would certainly be more delicate that the
Dementors, no?" the Dark Lord said, apparently enjoying his attempts to shake
the girl while Antonin continued to cough, and the entire table was riveted
upon the girl's defiance.
"No less depressing," Granger sighed, feigning whimsy. "But perhaps a touch
warmer for the victims."
Severus almost closed his eyes, wondering what the Dark Lord had done to the
girl before she very deliberately curled her leg around his beneath the table,
almost looping her thigh over the top of his. She was scared, he realised, but
not of him.
"Warmer, indeed," the Dark Lord grinned meanly. "And I doubt you've had the
pleasure of making Alecto Carrow's acquaintance. May I introduce you?"
"By all means," Granger replied, playing along with all the grace of a
princess. "I'd be thoroughly intrigued to meet a witch whose esteem your surely
must hold in high regard if she is seated at your right hand. I'm certain I
must've imagined that such a position would belong to someone delightful, like
Bellatrix."
Two seats down, on Antonin's other side and next to her husband, Bellatrix
hissed in annoyance at the pointed attention called to her demotion down the
table since her blunder at the Department of Mysteries.
"Indeed," the Dark Lord said. "Dear Bella, does ordinarily occupy Alecto's
seat."
"A promotion of status for the holidays, then?" Granger smiled cruelly at
Carrow. "How quaint. You must be feeling terribly thrilled by your elevation,
Alecto. I do wonder how long it might last?"
The other witch narrowed her eyes on Granger hatefully at her ability to draw
attention to the fact that she was usually seated much further down the table
beside her fool of a brother.
"Special allowances have been made this evening, mudblood," Bella spoke up,
sucking sour grapes over the witch's jab at her. "Hence the atrocity of
permitting you to sit at the table, rather than feeding at the trough in the
barn."
"I see mine wasn't the only exception made this evening," Hermione drawled,
never taking her eyes off the Dark Lord. "I don't know why, Lord Voldemort, but
for some peculiar reason I had begun to think that your good manners must
surely be reflected in your followers. Being mistaken is an unusual sensation
for me, but I confess I'm not entirely surprised. How do you tolerate such
unrefined speech in your presence?"
The Dark Lord wasn't the only one to laugh. This time Lucius, Dolohov, Rowle,
and even Rodolphus snorted at the girl's jab at Bella's poor manners.
"We work with what we are given," the Dark Lord said, offering no defence of
Bella.
"We do, indeed," Hermione said. "Shall you introduce me to the rest of your
loyal servants this evening? I confess, I am just burning to know who they all
are behind those garish masks."
"You would enjoy passing such information to the Order, no?" the Dark Lord
asked.
Granger smile widely, appearing to slightly dazzle the Dark Lord with her
pearly-white teeth and her expression of pure elation right then.
"I would be delighted," Hermione admitted. "Though, I confess, introductions
aren't necessary for all."
"Infamy suits them," the Dark Lord smirked and everyone around the table in a
Death Eater mask gave a wicked chuckle.
"Perhaps it does," the witch conceded softly. "Though I suppose that even if it
doesn't, there is no going back now, is there?"
Her words, so softly spoken, rendered the table speechless and uncomfortable
once more and Severus fought the urge to smirk.
"Severus, my friend?" the Dark Lord asked after narrowing his eyes ever so
slightly on the curly-haired witch.
"Yes, my Lord?" Severus asked, meeting his master's gaze unflinchingly.
"I do hope you enjoy your Christmas present," he said, smiling widely.
"Lordship of Selwyn Hall will suit you grandly, I should think."
"One can hope, my Lord," Sever replied evenly.
"The ceremony will begin after the meal," he said.
"A Lordship ceremony?" Hermione spoke up, her foot twitching against his calf
muscle. "You mean to instigate the Old Magic to grant him the title?"
Lord Voldemort chuckled.
"You are familiar with the ritual, Miss Granger?" the Dark Lord asked, looking
wickedly amused now as she began to realise just what she would be in for this
evening.
"They don't call me a know-it-all for nothing," Miss Granger said quietly,
glancing sideways at Severus.
He didn't return the look, knowing the Dark Lord was on the lookout. He wanted
to make this painful and fraught with horror for the girl, and it would not to
do suck the fun out of it by taking pity on her.
"Excellent," the Dark Lord clapped his hands together excitedly and Hermione
jumped. Severus heard many of his brethren chuckle at her expense, amused by
her nervousness after her trading of loaded barbs.
"Might I ask after the sacrifice, my Lord?" Severus asked quietly when everyone
was distracted as the entrée plates were cleared and the main course began to
be served.
The Dark Lord inclined his head, smiling wickedly and Severus wondered if he
meant Granger or Carrow. Severus's eyes darted between the witches, but the
Dark Lord shook his head minutely before nodding toward someone further down
the table. Everyone was distracted by the meal and so his nod went unnoticed.
Severus followed his eyes, spying someone who had displeased him greatly in the
past and who's recent return to work had caused nothing but problems for the
cause in their subtle takeover of the Ministry.
The truly wicked smirk that curled across his face made the Dark Lord laugh.
                        ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Hermione twisted her leg around Snape's under the table, barely controlling the
impulse she had to begin firing Killing curses as everyone. She was on edge and
she was hungry, barely resisting the urge to scarf down her food with as few
manners as Ron in her hunger. Her stomach was cramping uncomfortably and
despite her dread, she was too hungry not to eat.
All throughout dinner – which consisted of six courses and left her stomach
feeling full to burst from beneath the whale-bone corset of her dress – Lord
Voldemort kept a running commentary with his followers, asking after everyone's
holiday plans and making merry. He drank whiskey alongside his followers and
Hermione couldn't deny that he was charming.
"And you, Draco?" Voldemort asked. "How are your grades, this year?"
Draco Malfoy paused with his spoon of chocolate mousse half-way to his mouth,
his eyes going wide like a deer in the headlights.
"Erm… not bad, my Lord," Malfoy choked out, looking alarmed to have been called
upon. Hermione could tell at a glance that he wasn't thrilled about being a
Death Eater and that he was scared out of his mind that he would be punished.
"Oh?" Voldemort asked. "I was under the impression your grades were suffering
this year?"
Draco's cheeks mottled pink and Hermione glanced past Snape to stare at the
blond wizard.
"Uh… yes, my Lord," Draco said. "They are a bit."
"And you, Miss Granger? How are your grades?" Voldemort asked politely.
"My grades are exemplary," Hermione said primly, not even caring that she
sounded conceited and snobbish. "I've never received a lower grade than one
Exceeds Expectations."
"Never?" Voldemort asked, raising his eyebrows before glancing at Snape, whose
lips twisted into a sneer as he shook his head.
"Well, what does one expect when you're fucking your teachers?" Voldemort
dropped into the conversation and everyone fell silent once more, apparently
intrigued.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, just knowing he was trying to get a rise out of
her.
"Actually, since fucking Severus, I don't believe he's had to mark any of my
assignments," Hermione replied evenly.
Draco dropped his spoon.
"You're fucking him?" he blurted in absolute horror and Voldemort frowned at
Draco's poorly concealed shock.
Hermione peered around Snape to meet Draco's gaze where he sat between his
mother and father.
"Did you imagine I'd been dragged here for some other reason, Draco?" Hermione
asked. "I'm certain I don't need to tell you that I am not actually here for
the thrill of your company."
"You fucked a teacher?" Malfoy asked incredulously. "You? The goody-two-shoes
little know-it-all who beats everyone else for top score in class? What? You've
been fucking your teachers for your grades this whole time?"
Hermione smirked wickedly.
"Of course, I have," Hermione drawled crassly. "It's the perfect way to collect
a pocketful of 'O's. I meet with McGongall at lunch and lick her wrinkled old
twat until she screams. And every week after class on Thursdays, I felate Binns
behind the tapestry on the third floor."
"Binns is a ghost," Draco protested thickly, looking disgusted at her
suggestions.
"There's nothing like that rush when he walks right through me," Hermione
shrugged. "And obviously Professor Slughorn just loves to bend me over his desk
and…"
Snape's fingers lifted to press to her lips, stopping her words before she
could utter them.
"I'd really rather not revisit my dinner so soon, Miss Granger," Severus
drawled, his brow furrowed.
Without thinking, Hermione nipped his fingers gently, her eyes lifting to his
in desperate need of reassurance that she wasn't going to die here surrounded
by such wretched people. Voldemort laughed again, clapping like a delighted
child and Hermione stared desperately at Snape, her leg curling around his even
tighter.
"What was that you were saying about manners, mudblood?" Bella drawled from
down the table.
Hermione narrowed her eyes without taking them off Snape, who was watching her
like he wanted to pin her down and fuck her right there on the table.
"I like to adapt to fit the mannerisms of those around me, Lestrange," Hermione
hissed, nipping the pad of Snape's thumb again when he traced it along her
lower lip as though fascinated by the words that continued to spill out of her
mouth.
"Uncle, really? You shagged her?" Draco asked, still sitting there pale-faced
and looking utterly horrified.
Hermione grinned wickedly at Severus when he smirked.
"Where do you think she was coming from when she collided with you under the
mistletoe, Draco?" Snape drawled, smirking at his godson.
"Excuse me?" Lucius demanded, stilling in horror. "Mistletoe?"
Draco's face was red with embarrassment, but he met her gaze and said, "Please
tell me you weren't sucking my godfather's cock before you snogged me,
Granger?"
Hermione flicked her eyes to Snape, wondering if she should mess with Malfoy
just for the sake of making him uncomfortable but from the look on Snape's face
it rather seemed like he might vomit if she were to say that.
"Not on that particular day, I wasn't," she offered, smirking at Draco.
"Oh, thank Merlin," Draco muttered, putting his head in his hands. Snape
chuckled darkly, and Hermione could tell when she heard Voldemort huff that he
was annoyed that his joke hadn't played out quite like he'd hoped.
"Draco?" Lucius demanded. "You've snogged a mudblood?"
"I didn't have a choice, Father," Draco muttered. "It was snog her, or be still
standing there under that wretched mistletoe."
"Oh, so it wasn't a ploy to make me late, better enabling Dolohov to kidnap
me?" Hermione asked snidely and again, everyone at the table fell silent.
Draco lifted his head, darting a glance across the table at Dolohov before
looking over at her. Hermione caught the guilty glint in his eye.
"I would never stoop to such subterfuge, Granger," he drawled in a perfectly
even tone.
Scandalised, and just knowing that he'd delayed her on purpose, Hermione drew
her wand and flung a hex at her school rival. Too slow with his own wand, Draco
took the Stinging Jinx to the chest before Snape caught her wand arm, forcing
the tip back toward her.
"And she's quick with that wand, too," Voldemort laughed again. "My, my, my. I
had begun to think you might be too cowardly to use it when I returned it to
you, Hermione, my friend."
Hermione narrowed her eyes on the wretched Lord of Darkness, struggling in
Snape's hold and thoroughly furious, now.
"Are you going to keep up with this ridiculous charade much longer, or can we
just get the bloody hell on with it, Tom?" she demanded, purposely choosing the
boring and common name that Dumbledore insisted Voldemort hated.
"You wish to proceed to tonight's main event?" Voldemort asked, his smile
slipping from his face and a wicked gleam coming into his red eyes. "So eager
for your wedding, Miss Granger?"
"I recall reading that in order for a ceremony of binding magic to occur, both
parties must willingly and of their own volition, enter into the agreement.
How, might I ask, do you presume to force me to do this?" she demanded.
"Actually, if you read the fine print, you must only have chosen to be
magically bound to your spouse of your own volition," Voldemort purred. "You'll
be given a choice. You see, you can either marry Severus, or you can marry
Antonin. You choose."
Hermione's face mottled with fury and she thought seriously about hexing
herself to death.
"I was under the impression Snape would be choosing?" she countered, narrowing
her eyes.
"He has chosen," Voldemort shrugged.
Snape's face twitched in a way that made her think he hadn't been consulted.
"And if I chose Dolohov, instead? Hermione demanded.
"Please do, Pchelka," the Russian murmured, licking his lips wickedly.
Hermione paused in her writhing amid Snape's hold, realising Dolohov meant her
harm at the very least.
"What? You want to fuck the little mudblood, too?" Hermione spat at him coldly.
"What makes you think I haven't already?" Dolohov asked. "You've spent the past
three days unconscious and at my mercy, Granger."
A chill ran down Hermione's spine and she narrowed her eyes on him hatefully,
clenching her pelvic floor and trying to figure out if she was sore down there
as though she'd been recently engaging in coitus.
"And yet here I sit, unravaged," Hermione replied coldly when Bellatrix,
Alecto, and a few of the men laughed cruelly.
"You think so?" Dolohov asked, raising his eyebrows at her, his eyes glinting
with something dark and carnal that scared her.
"Well, if you did try anything then you must be extremely undersized because I
can't feel a thing," Hermione replied acidly, and Dolohov lost his wicked
smirk.
Voldemort chortled at her jab, looking entirely too thrilled for words at her
reaction.
"It is such a shame about your blood, Miss Hermione Granger," he said softly.
"You'd have made the most formidable witch among my forces were your blood
pure."
"Then let it be known that I revel in my lowly, muddied blood, free of your
allure," Hermione hissed before Snape pressed his fingers to her lips again,
silencing her once more. She bit him for his trouble, though not hard enough to
do more than smart.
"Free of my allure, but not my clutches, little mudblood. Who will it be? Shall
you marry Severus, or Antonin?"
Hermione curled her lip furiously, intent on spitting more venom at the
wretched wizard but the feel of Snape's hand gliding up her thigh before
gripping hard, stopped her. She breathed out a slow, controlled breath, aware
that her temper was sending crackles and sparkles of purple magic dancing
through her curls and likely ruining her hairstyle. When she had mentally
counted to ten, Hermione bit out her answer.
"Severus."
She wondered whether she should be relieved or terrified when Lord Voldemort
grinned cruelly, as though all of his Christmases had come at once.
***** Chapter Fourteen *****
                               Chapter Fourteen
===============================================================================
Severus breathed a slow sigh of relief as the reckless little witch bit out his
name. Not that he'd feared she would pick Dolohov, but because he'd been
terrified she might get herself killed with her acid tongue and her sharp
retorts before he could manage to pull her from the Dark Lord clutches.
"Excellent," the Dark Lord purred. "Rodolphus, Rabastan, send the families and
sympathizers home. Ensure that those who've been promised the Mark remain –
we'll make a fine Christmas gift of the ceremony. Everyone else, adjourn to
Selwyn Hall so that the ritual may begin."
"What of me, my Lord?" Alecto Carrow simpered at the Dark Lord, frowning and
obviously confused over why she'd been dressed up for a wedding when she hadn't
been consulted or suggested as an option for him.
The Dark Lord turned to her with surprised eyes before he chortled and said,
"Oh, did I forget to mention? Upon Severus's choice of the mudblood, your
services are not required for his ritual."
"So, I am… off the hook?" Alecto asked, not daring to trust a hope.
"No," the Dark Lord smiled cruelly. "We'll be performing the Lordship Ceremony
for Antonin tonight, too. The death of his father has left Dolohov Park without
a proper Lord and it's high time Antonin was rewarded for his loyalty and
service."
"My Lord?" Dolohov choked in horror, looking sideways at Alecto, who simpered
with glee at the idea of marrying the Russian bastard. Severus could see that
Antonin was wondering what he'd done wrong to have earned such a wretched fate.
"Smile, Antonin," the Dark Lord grinned mercilessly. "It's your wedding night."
He rose to his feet positively cackling with laughter, and Severus frowned,
shaking his head as Antonin turned to Alecto with utter horror glittering in
his eyes, apparently less than thrilled that he'd be her husband in short
order.
Untangling his leg from around Granger's beneath the table, Severus rose to his
feet quickly and offered the seething young witch his hand. Despite the mask he
wore, and despite the circumstances that would soon make her his wife, the girl
took it without a second of hesitation, lacing her fingers through his and
gripping his hand so tightly that he feared she might maim him.
"Ah, Dolores," the Dark Lord could be heard saying as he made his way spryly
toward the Entrance Hall, offering his elbow to the terrible toad-like witch
ensconced in pink, and escorting her toward the door. "So good of you to join
us. Tell me, are you ready to devote your life to my cause?"
"Oh, I am, my Lord," the bitch simpered, and Severus felt Granger squeeze his
hand even tighter, pulling his arm ever so slightly when she dragged her feet,
obviously trying to get him alone.
Severus shot her a quelling look, attempting to silently convey that he could
not save her from her fate. Before the night was through she would be bound to
him for all eternity as his wife and while he felt positively sick with the
notion, there was nothing for it. To remove her from the Dark Lord's clutches
now would be to sign his own death certificate. She narrowed her eyes on him
before planting her feet, refusing to walk another step.
"Coming, Severus?" Lucius asked in a soft voice, seeing the girl's
determination.
"Momentarily," Severus nodded at his best friend. "Keep the Dark Lord
distracted a moment, would you?"
"And stray too close to that bloated pink bullfrog? I think not. I'm certain
that Narcissa, Draco, and I are required and morally bound by host right to
ensure all these fine people make their way home safely," Lucius smirked.
Severus's lips twitched at the excuse and watched the Malfoy family walk away
before turning his gaze to Granger.
"I cannot rescue you, Miss Granger," he warned her quietly before she could
even open her mouth. Her fingers were still tangled with his and she nodded,
apparently unsurprised that there was nothing he could do to get her back to
the Order before the Dark Lord had had his fun.
"Did he rape me? Can you use Legilimency to find out?" she asked, nodding in
Dolohov's direction where the Russian was in the process of threatening Carrow
at wand-point at the other end of the hall. Severus hesitated, frowning.
Despite many an imagining, Severus hadn't picked up on any truth to the claim
when Antonin had taunted her.
"I don't believe so," Severus said. "The Dark Lord meant to make a gift of you,
to reward me. He would not allow his gift to be tainted, though he will revel
if he knows the idea is tormenting you."
She breathed out again, slow and controlled even as more crackles of purple
magic jumped through her curls. Severus suffered the strangest urge to try
capturing one between his fingertips, wondering if it would sizzle like fire,
or burn like the coldest ice.
"Is he going to force us to consummate the ceremony in front of them all?" she
asked next, her tone tight and controlled, her expression blank as though she
were running purely on the willpower to keep from exploding into what he did
not doubt would be an impressive rage. He'd seen her lose her temper a time or
two whilst in public at Hogwarts; he knew she was both capable of violence, and
in possession of an extremely acid tongue when it suited her. "I wasn't
permitted knickers under this wretched dress. Does he plan to make you fuck me
while they watch?"
Severus raised his eyebrows, his eyes betraying him as they slid the length of
her body, snug and decadent as it was inside her dress.
"Consummation is not customarily part of the Lordship ritual," he said
carefully. "Though consummation is essential to bind the wedding ceremony
before the Lordship magic can be ignited. Then again, he chose from witches
whom I had already fucked when he sought a wife for me to avoid the need for
pausing between the wedding ceremony and the Lordship ceremony for the sake of
consummation… I cannot presume to say what the Dark Lord will do. He might find
it entertaining to humiliate you in front of the brethren."
"Won't that be humiliating for you, too?" she asked.
Severus eyed her drolly, shaking his head slowly.
"It's not uncommon amongst the brethren to engage in… erm… group sex. The only
member of the Death Eaters who hasn't seen me naked and fucking someone at
least once is Draco. It would be inconvenient, but not all that humiliating for
me."
"Delightful," Granger wrinkled her nose at him before she sighed softly, some
of her anger seeming to drain away when he absently traced the pad of his thumb
over the back of her hand, offering only a tight smile. "Would you prefer I
choose Dolohov, Severus? I know you don't particularly like me, let alone fancy
me enough to consider marrying me. I know you've attempted to distance yourself
from me since shagging me because you're not interested in sparking anything
romantic between us. If you'd prefer that I choose Dolohov to spare you, I
will."
"And marry Alecto instead?" Severus scoffed. "The loosest witch amongst the
brethren? There are any number of horrors I would consider before allowing
myself to be tied to that psychotic trollop, Granger. Being married to you
would not even register on the list of the much more horrible things I would do
to avoid her."
She looked relieved, relaxing a little further. Severus supposed he couldn't
blame her. She had been kidnapped and forced into her fancy dress, dragged
before the brethren and handed over to him like a fine dessert on a silver
platter. She had little say in this and she was far too young for marriage. She
was only seventeen, Merlin curse it all! Severus gritted his teeth, looking
away, unable to bare her look of relief at the idea that she'd been willing to
risk giving herself to Dolohov, had he asked it of her, merely to spare him the
mild inconvenience it would be to marry her.
Gryffindor bravery really did no know bounds, he mused, watching her trying to
gather her thoughts. She'd have been brutally raped and tortured daily by
Antonin, had she chosen him. The psychotic bastard would've revelled in
tormenting her just to watch her writhe. Severus might be cold, cruel, wicked,
Dark and utterly devoid of kindness, but at least he wouldn't physically break
her. He had never allowed himself to emulate his father in that respect and he
most certainly wasn't going to start with this delicate little witch who was so
much fiercer than she knew. No, he might put her through enough mental anguish
to land her in the padded rooms at St Mungo's, but Severus would never stoop so
low as to lay an unkind hand on her.
"This is really happening, isn't it?" she asked in a small voice, her eyes
searching his face worriedly. "I'm really about to marry you, even though
you're my teacher, and everyone is going to flip their lids when they find out
about this."
"They already know," Severus told her quietly, sliding his feet a little
closer, closing the space between them until her chest almost brushed his. "I
might've been vague enough to avoid specifics, but the Order is aware that you
have been captured because you've been fucking me. The older members of the
Order who know of the ritual are at home and terrified as we speak, wondering
if I will be asked to marry you or murder you."
She paled considerably.
"Did they… take it well?" she asked, her voice squeaky.
Severus curled his lip silently and she closed her eyes, not needing him to
verbalise their horror.
"You had already informed Weasley," he said, recalling the threat the younger
wizard had made.
"Oh, Merlin, what did he say to you?" she asked, her eyes springing open in
horror.
"That we both knew why you had been captured and how I might get you out of
here, and how he would make the depraved acts of the brethren look like child's
play in comparison to what he plans to do to me should I return you to them in
less than perfect condition," Severus drawled smugly in retort, enjoying the
way her eyes widened.
"How badly did you hurt him?" she asked, apparently knowing him well.
"I managed to keep myself from doing no more than shoving him off me before
sneering in their faces that you beg like an angel."
She swatted his chest reproachfully, her cheeks flushing crimson.
"Snape!" she hissed. "How could you? As though all of this isn't awkward
enough, you had to reveal that little gem?"
"I don't often make it a habit of accepting criticism regarding my…ability to
attract a witch," Severus said, shrugging unrepentantly. "Potter seemed to
doubt my ability to lure you into my bed of your own free will."
"Well, since you're about to become my husband, you better just stop attracting
any other witches who aren't me or I'll be the one making Death Eater depravity
look tame," she said contrarily, and Severus couldn't entirely hold back his
wicked little chuckle of amusement.
"You presume to tell me whom I can and can't fuck?" he asked, raising one
eyebrow in challenge just to watch her narrow those cinnamon eyes on him
hatefully.
"You presume I won't pick Dolohov instead and force you to marry Carrow if
you're going to be a philanderer?" she challenged.
"You imagine he would be faithful?" Severus scoffed, narrowing his eyes on the
witch.
She rolled her eyes at him. "I wouldn't want him to be faithful," she said,
before clapping her hand over her mouth when she realised what she'd said.
Severus smirked wickedly at her, smug in the knowledge that she obviously cared
just who he was fucking and didn't like the idea of it being anyone other than
her.
"Possessive, are you?" he taunted, feeling his cock twitch when she narrowed
her eyes at him, apparently mortified.
"Yes," she admitted bravely.
He didn't know why, but the bravery of her admission, and indeed, her apparent
fondness that suggested she'd like to keep him all to herself pleased Severus.
He was going to have entirely too much fun breaking her.
"Good," he said. "I am the same."
She smiled just a little bit and Severus shook his head, his lips twitching in
amusement.
"Right," she said. "Well, since we're about to get married… Erm… I'm Hermione
Jean Granger. I'm the only daughter of Jean Stanton and Arnold Granger. Born
September 19th, 1979 and raised in Sutton. I'm a Gryffindor. I'm seventeen. I'm
a bookish little know-it-all who owns a large, fluffy orange cat and enough
books to rekindle the fires of every witch-burning recorded in history in a
single sitting… Erm…I knit in my free time, sometimes. I love my parents. I
have two doltish male best friends, and am probably too smart for my own good."
She smiled nervously, and Severus could feel that she was trembling. Her
attempt at a crash-course introduction amused him more than it ought and
despite the ridiculousness of it all, he responded in kind.
"Severus Tobias Snape. Born January 9th, 1960 in Spinner's End, Cokeworth. Only
surviving son of Tobias Snape and Eileen Prince. I was in Slytherin whilst at
Hogwarts. I'm thirty-six years old. I'm a Death Eater and a Hogwarts Professor.
I am also bookish and a know-it-all, and I don't have the time or the patience
for familiars. My closest friends are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and I am the
godfather of their son, Draco. I am a qualified Potions Master, a Legilimens,
and a member of the Potioneers Guild of Great Britain. Soon to be Lord of
Selwyn Hall and husband of Hermione Granger."
She nodded, her smile faltering a little as her lower lip trembled with nerves.
Severus eyed her, watching her reactions and her emotions as they flitted
across her face. Like an open book he could read at will, she detailed her
every worry without saying a word.
"Are we going to be tortured?" she asked in a whisper, her voice tight.
"No," Severus shook his head. "The ritual is barbaric, but not for the
participants. You and I will be required to… share the murder of the Dark
Lord's chosen sacrifice… but there should be no torture. At least none outside
that of mental torment over taking a life, and the rip to one's soul from the
act."
"Do you know who he's chosen?" she asked him, her brow furrowing further.
Severus nodded.
"Someone I believe that even you will find easy to kill, Miss Granger," Severus
said softly. "Now, if you are ready, we had best be going. The Dark Lord is not
a patient wizard and we are, after all, the guests of honour this evening."
"If this is honour, then dishonour me any time," she muttered, and Severus
fixed her a wicked little smirk.
"Oh, I plan to," he promised quietly and for the briefest moment heat and
amusement glittered in her eyes before she recalled that she would soon be
forced to become his wife.
"Good," she said boldly, nodding her head. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for
it. Erm… do try to refrain from unleashing all that bottled-up fury on me too
often, won't you?"
"What is a wife for if not to endure the very blackest of moods?" Severus
drawled, smirking at her.
"I wasn't aware your moods had another shade," she retorted defiantly, and
Severus chuckled, surprised she was able to even think clearly with what she'd
endured and what she would face, let alone being able to tease him.
Squeezing the hand clutching his own, Severus slid his feet just a little bit
closer before raising his eyebrows at her, waiting to see if she was ready to
apparate.
"Can you apparate from inside the Manor?" she asked, frowning.
"I have special privileges," he grinned at her. "Perks of being Godfather to
Draco."
"The only perk, I imagine," she said snidely, and Severus was laughing as he
twisted sharply, Disapparating them both to Selwyn Hall with a sharp crack.
"Come now," he told her when they'd landed, heedless of the audience awaiting
them. "You're about to become his godmother by default. Is that any way to talk
about the boy?"
"First of all, he's only about nine months younger than me," she pointed out.
"And secondly, he sold me out. Technically my future-godson or not, he can go
jump in the lake."
Severus knew everyone was listening to them as they spoke, most with eyes that
glinted keen interest to see that the girl was obviously unafraid of him. Her
apparent ease in his presence confused many of them, he knew. He might scare
the daylights out of his students at Hogwarts, but his fellow Death Eaters
didn't scare so easily, yet more than half of them were terrified of him. He
was a man with nothing to lose and he was as ruthless and cruel as he was
quick-witted. That the girl would so defiantly insult his godson and call
attention to their age difference suggested her complete lack of fear for him.
Dressed as he was, in his Death Eater robes and with his mask fixed firmly to
his face, he knew he was a scary sight. Yet the little swot had no fear of him.
Not even in the face of being forced to wed him. She hadn't openly protested
the union, and he didn't think she would. Whether it was because she was smart
enough to see that there was no other option that wouldn't get them both
killed, or if it was because she simply didn't mind who she had to marry, as
long as it wasn't Dolohov, Severus didn't know.
"By all mean, please draw attention to the twenty-year age gap between the two
of us moments before we take our vows and bind our magic," he drawled,
something inside him twisting at the thought of what was to come and the way
the world would react when they knew about this.
He almost choked on his tongue when she reached out and smoothed a soothing
hand over his chest above his heart, rolling her eyes at his blackening mood.
"Oh, please," she scoffed. "It's only nineteen years, not a hundred. Now, if
you were as old as Dumbledore… well, to be honest, I'd have been impressed that
you'd gotten it up and thus, landed me in this position to begin with."
Severus snorted, listening to a few of the brethren snigger in amusement
despite themselves. How she could be making jokes when she ought to be
terrified and crying in protest was beyond him and the rest of the brethren, he
was sure. Perhaps those wicked little fantasises about him that she so often
entertained had sparked some unfortunate attraction to him within her. Merlin,
he hoped the witch wasn't fool enough to actually fancy him. That would be
unfortunate, indeed. Unfortunate, and unrequited.
"Remind me not to look to you for compliments, witch," Severus said dryly.
"What?" she asked, smirking. "That was a compliment. I called you young and
virile. Every man's dream, no?"
"Most of us tend to dream more carnal things than youth," Severus said.
"Rubbish," she said. "Is there a wizard here who wouldn't revel in luring a
witch, twenty years his junior, to his bed?" she asked, and a few of the
brethren smirked.
"One," Severus said imperiously.
"Don't pretend you didn't revel in it, Snape," she chided, smirking at him now.
"I was there. I saw you."
"Perhaps I'm a skilled actor."
"Or deluded," she offered, and Lucius snorted behind him to hear her so bluntly
insult him.
"I am not above punishing you, Miss Granger," Severus warned her, his lips
twitching.
"More detention?" she asked, her eyes glittering wickedly.
"I was envisioning a spanking," Severus replied, smirking.
She didn't even bat an eye, her cheeks remaining decidedly un-pinked as she
shrugged her slim shoulders and said, "I'll let you borrow my paddle, if you
like? It's got studs."
Severus's cock twitched when she smirked in return before releasing his hand
and walking across the expanse of undisturbed snow upon the grounds of Selwyn
Hall to stand before the Dark Lord, defiantly lifting her chin and
just daring them all to test her mettle. He hated himself for the way he
watched her, the bright silver gleam of her dress seeming to glow in the
blackness of the night. She held her wand loosely in her right hand, and
despite the cold wind that blew to kiss the bare expanse of her delicate
throat, she didn't shiver. She looked the picture of Light and goodness and
innocence, but Severus had traced his magic over every inch of hers. He knew
that though she wasn't yet infected with the Darkness, she had a capacity for
Dark as deep and as terrible as his own.
He knew he could thoroughly corrupt the little witch and his cock twitched
again at the very thought of doing so. She was about to become his wife.
Legally and magically bound to him for all of eternity and he could treat her
as he pleased. He could lure her to the Darkness and infest her soul with it as
surely as he'd infested his own. He could watch her crumble into a million tiny
pieces, only to build her up and watch her shatter again and again.
He had never envisioned himself marrying. Truthfully, he'd imagined that the
quest to end the war might cost his life, and he'd made peace with that.
Severus loathed that as he followed her across the snow to stand before the
Dark Lord, a lick of anticipation and dark amusement flittered through him. He
would revel in the horror the Order would feel when their relief wore off and
she was returned to them, bound to their least favourite member in matrimony
and in magic.
"No tears, Miss Granger?" the Dark Lord asked softly when they both stood
before him, flanked on all sides by the brethren. Lucius stood at his back,
close enough to touch and as the girl shook her head, Severus felt Lucius press
a hand to the middle of his back, offering comfort, knowing he'd never planned
on taking a wife. He'd intended his father's wretched surname to die with him,
and yet here he stood, poised to give the wretched thing to so bright and
brilliant a witch.
"How disappointing," the Dark Lord drawled, seeming genuinely saddened that she
wasn't going to cry. "But then, this is a happy occasion, no? Did you ever
envision your wedding would look quite like this?"
Severus watched as Hermione took her eyes off the Dark Lord, tracing them over
the faces of the brethren, all concealed behind their masks, all of them
dressed in black, encircling her where she stood with him. They were all
silent, though many were smirking and sneering at her. When she lifted her
cinnamon eyes to meet his own behind his mark, Severus watched her widen them,
inviting him to invade her mind if he wished.
"Once," she admitted, nodding her head.
"Indeed?" the Dark Lord asked, and Severus couldn't resist the urge to slip
into her mind, finding himself inside a daydream, or perhaps it was a
nightmare. He sensed the Dark Lord's presence, too, there inside her head,
witnessing the same thing.
In her head, the imagining was eerily similar to their current surroundings,
though in the daydream there was blood on the snow. The setting was the same. A
snowy landscape amid the darkness and herself in a torn white dress that bore
bloodstains down the front. He stood beside her in her daydream, too, his mask
in place – though it, too, was bloodied – and his expression sour.
"You have an interesting imagination, my friend," the Dark Lord told her when
he withdrew from her mind and Severus followed suit.
Hermione didn't answer. She didn't take her eyes off him, either. Severus held
her gaze, looking down his nose at her. He didn't doubt that to the brethren
she probably looked terrified while he looked annoyed and mildly disgusted. But
they couldn't see her eyes. Those chocolate pools swirled with a thousand
emotions she hadn't voiced or allowed herself to express, and he could see that
she was everything from horrified and terrified, to utterly elated. Aroused.
Excited. Scared. Nervous. Anxious. Angry. Happy. She felt it all and she didn't
know what to do with it. She wasn't afraid of him, Severus could tell. She
wasn't even really afraid that the brethren might all see her naked if he had
to fuck her before them, nor was she scared to be married, or of how her
friends and family would react when they found out. She didn't fear that the
Dark Lord would torture her any longer. Severus could see it in her eyes and
sense it in her mind that she'd gone beyond those fears. No, there was only one
thought filling her head, now.
She was afraid of herself. Afraid of what she might become when those whispers
of excitement and shadows and darkness began suffusing her magic. She was
afraid of how much she longed to go through with the ceremony, and Severus was
shocked to find that despite the amount of blood and horror that seemed to
infuse her daydream of a moment like this, she hadn't feared it. She'd been
intrigued by the idea since she'd had that daydream, and here it was, a
reality.
"You will not enjoy being my wife, Miss Granger," he informed her coldly,
knowing he still had a part to play.
Her lips twisted into a cruel smile that he'd arranged upon his own face many
times and Severus almost snatched her away and took her home before this farce
could play out when she spoke.
"You're wrong," she said, speaking so softly he might've only imagined that
she'd spoken at all had he not seen her lips move.
"Enjoyment or not, you will be married," the Dark Lord said, seeming more
annoyed by the second that she wasn't a sobbing mess. "Join hands."
She didn't hesitate as she faced him fully, lifting her hands and holding them
out to him. Severus eyed them for a long moment before lifting his own hands.
He curled his wand-hand around her delicate wrist – so slim and fragile he felt
he could break the bones with a mere flick of his arm. They inter-crossed their
arms, his left hand holding her left, and his right holding her right. Severus
could feel the thrum of her pulse in her veins under his fingers and he could
feel the familiar brush of her magic along his own.
"And now, the vows," the Dark Lord said, flicking his wand and casting the
spell to form an Unbreakable Vow.
Severus knew it would be up to him to word this carefully, to ensure that the
Dark Lord would be pleased, and would allow for this to continue, without
ruining both of their lives or vowing anything he couldn't keep. The girl
didn't flinch as she held his gaze when the first tendrils of the spell traced
over their joined wrists. The magic seared and tingled strangely.
"I, Severus Tobias Snape, take you, Hermione Jean Granger, to by my lawfully
wedded and magically bound wife," he drawled. "In sickness and in health. For
richer, or poorer. For better or worse. To have and to hold, and to protect to
the best of my ability. I vow to care for you when you are unable to care for
yourself, and to help you up when you fall. I vow to correct you when you are
wrong, to guide you when you are lost, and to comfort you when you are down."
He paused to take a breath, watching the tendrils of magic curl around their
joined hands and feeling his own magic beginning to weave through hers. She
never took her eyes off him, her breath coming a little faster despite the
dispassionate way he listed off his vows. Before he could continue, the Dark
Lord interrupted.
"Do you, Severus, vow to care for Hermione and any children you both might
have?" he asked, and Severus felt a chill run down his spine.
"I do," he vowed.
"Do you vow to corrupt Hermione until she is as depraved and as wicked as you?"
the Dark Lord asked, smirking.
Severus's gut clenched, suspecting the Dark Lord had plucked that thought right
out of his head.
"I do," he breathed, watching the girl's eyes widen slightly when he
accompanied the vow with a push of his magic against hers. "With this ring I
take you, Hermione, as my wife for all of our days, until death do us part."
The girl gasped when, from the very fabric of his magic, he forged a wedding
band that encircled her dainty finger, snug and immovable. He accompanied the
gesture with a stab of his magic into hers and she trembled as his magic
impaled her own.
"And you, Miss Granger?" the Dark Lord asked.
She bit her lip for a moment, blinking slowly as she gathered her thoughts and
her courage.
"I, Hermione Jean Granger, take you, Severus Tobias Snape, to be my lawfully
wedded and magically bound husband. For better or worse. In sickness and in
health. For richer or poorer. For Lighter, or Darker. I vow to protect you when
you require it, to comfort you when you are down, to support you when you are
challenged, and to tolerate you even when you are unbearable. I solemnly
promise to remind you of your humanity when it evades you, and to correct you
when you are wrong. I swear to heal you when you are injured, to hold you even
when you are wrathful, and to love you even when you are hateful."
Severus's eyes widened in shock at her words, not having expected her to use
the dreaded 'L' word. She shoved her own magic at him and Severus twitched, the
tendrils of magic streaming about their joined hands so brightly that they lit
up the night. The Dark Lord interrupted before she could continue, just as he'd
done to Severus.
"Do you, Hermione, vow to care for Severus and any children he might sire with
you?" he asked.
She gulped audibly before she nodded. "I do."
"Do you vow that your body, henceforth will be shared with none but Severus,
excepting those instances when you carry his children, until death do you
part?"
Severus blinked, unable to tear his eyes from the witch, no matter how much he
wanted to stare at the Dark Lord, wide-eyed, wondering what he was up to and
why he might include such a clause as to prevent her from fucking anyone else
but him. Hermione's brow furrowed, obviously confused by the vow as well, but
she made it.
"I do," she breathed, nodding slowly, curling her magic around and around the
spike of his magic within her. "With this ring, I thee wed, until death do us
part."
Severus's breath caught inside his chest and he closed his eyes when her magic
rushed right through him, encircling his ring-finger and leaving a bright gold
band behind, before she twisted her magic inside of him, stabbing it into him
with all the viciousness of an assassin. His knees almost buckled at the power
of it when she somehow made that shard of ice shatter within him, her magic
settling inside his own like a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow.
"By the power vested in me as the Dark Lord, I now pronounce you man and wife,"
the Dark Lord purred. "Severus, my friend, kiss your bride."
Severus's stomach clenched, and he frowned, breaking his stare with the young
witch – his wife – to look to the Dark Lord in confusion. He hadn't kissed
anyone in twenty-one years. Kissing would be a disaster. He'd sworn he would
never again open his heart to love via a kiss. The Dark Lord eyed him
expectantly, obviously knowing he didn't want to kiss the girl, but expecting
it. He hadn't made it a request, or a suggestion. It was a command
When he looked back at the girl before him, she watched him, obviously seeing
his confliction. Before he could even begin to attempt snogging her, she pulled
her hands from his grip and very carefully reached for his face. The brethren
watched with baited breath, all of them aware of his hang-up about snogging.
Severus blinked in shock when rather than touching his skin, Hermione caught
hold of his Death Eater mask. She moaned as she touched it, the effect of the
curses upon it affecting her immediately. Severus hissed, trying to pull back,
but as he did the mask slipped from his face, leaving it bare. The strings of
the mask slid through her fingers before she dropped it into the snow at their
feet, her breath coming in sharp little gasps as she stepped closer, closing
the distance between the two of them. Severus stood frozen, his heart racing
inside his chest as the brave little witch traced her fingertips along his jaw,
rising up on her toes and leaning toward him.
She tangled her free hand into his loose hair and pulled him down just a
little, her eyes dancing over his face before focusing on his lips. Severus
thought about pulling away, but before he could, she brushed her lips over his
gently. They tingled, and a little shiver ran through him as she did it again,
carefully pressing her lips to his as though she feared he might bite her or
just that he would pull away.
When she began to withdraw after a few short seconds, his arms looped around
her slim waist, unbidden, and Severus leaned into her, claiming her lips as he
couldn't ever remember doing to a witch. She squeaked in surprise and he almost
pulled away as her lips parted before he darted his tongue into her mouth,
touching it to hers for the first time. She tasted like the dessert they'd
eaten at Malfoy Manor and she sighed in his grip, curling one arm around the
back of his neck while she scraped her nails against his scalp gently, leaning
into the kiss, her tongue gliding against his.
It was clear to him that she, at least, knew what she was doing, and Severus
let her lead the kiss after that, simply enjoying the feel of her tongue
against his and the press of her lips against his own. His arms tightened
around her slender frame until she was plastered against him in a most
inappropriate manner and he almost forgot that they stood in the presence of
the Dark Lord and his fellow Death Eaters.
At least, he did until the Dark Lord's terrible laugh rattled like dry bones
and he jerked back from Granger in surprise. The witch squeaked in protest
before her hands tightened to fists, one in his hair and the other in his robes
as he lowered her back to stand on her own two feet without leaning into him.
"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord smiled when Severus turned to look at him,
awaiting instruction and trying to ignore the uneven kick of his heart in his
chest. "You don't know how it pleases me to see you married, my friend."
"My Lord," Severus bowed his head deferentially.
"And now that you are man and wife, let us make you Lord and Lady of Selwyn
Hall, shall we?"
"Of course, my Lord."
"Excellent. Antonin, the sacrifice, if you will?"
Severus glanced down at the little witch beside him when he felt a tiny, cold
hand, slip inside his own. She interlaced her fingers with his and he could
feel her trembling as she stood there, terrified by what was to come and the
murder she would soon be forced to commit.
"With pleasure, my Lord," Antonin smirked before he settled a cruel hand on the
back of Dolores Umbridge's neck and guided her forward.
***** Chapter Fifteen *****
                                Chapter Fifteen
===============================================================================
"My Lord?" Dolores Umbridge squeaked. "Surely, you don't mean… but my Lord,
I've been so loyal to you!"
Hermione closed her eyes as the wretched witch began to protest, realising that
Snape had been right. If ever there was a witch that she would revel in
murdering, it was Umbridge, and it looked like that was the Dark Lord's plan.
She trembled where she stood, loathing the sparkles of darkness filling her up
as the sound of a scuffle followed.
"You said you were willing to dedicate your life to my cause, Dolores," Lord
Voldemort said cruelly, laughing as though her attempts to escape were amusing.
"You said you'd give me the Dark Mark," the witch protested shrilly.
"I don't recall ever saying that," Voldemort laughed. "You merely assumed,
Dolores. And you know what they say about assumptions, no?"
A pathetic and terrified sob tore from Umbridge's throat and it was a sound
Hermione had heard before, when she and Harry had handed the woman off to the
Centaurs last June.
"Severus, please," she begged. "You can't let him kill me!"
Hermione opened her eyes as her husband laughed just as cruelly as the Dark
Lord had done.
"The Dark Lord isn't going to kill you, Umbridge," he drawled, sounding
positively wicked. "We are."
Hermione met Umbridge's eyes coldly.
"You vile little mudblood bitch!" Umbridge hissed when Hermione made no move to
help her. The woman knew better than to beg for help from her, it seemed. After
all, the last time she'd tried it, Hermione had let the wretched bitch be
carried off and raped by centaurs.
"That's hardly polite, Madam Undersecretary," Hermione said quietly.
"You will pay for this. The Ministry will lock you in Azkaban and you'll spend
your days sobbing and mad in a corner," Umbridge swore.
Hermione laughed, holding her gaze and staring her down.
"Oh, but Dolores," she drawled. "What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him,
remember? Did you forget that the Ministry is poised to fall under Lord
Voldemort's command? Do you really think I'll be prosecuted for doing his
bidding here this evening?"
"Dumbledore and your precious Order will cast you out for the no good,
murderous, wretched little slut you are when they find out about this!" the
woman sneered, fighting and writhing in Dolohov's grip.
"Perhaps they will," Hermione nodded her head. "But somehow, I doubt any of
them will do so in mourning of your loss."
Ugly splotches of colour appeared on the woman's pouchy cheeks and she screwed
up her eyes as she shrieked in fury, attempting to fling herself at Hermione,
hands gnarled like she wanted to claw her eyes out. Hermione didn't flinch,
watching her flail in mid-air for a moment before overbalancing to land in the
snow when Dolohov didn't release his hold on her throat.
The gathered Death Eaters all laughed cruelly, none of them making any move to
help the vile woman while she sobbed in the snow. Dolohov had taken her wand
when he'd grabbed her, Hermione noticed, spying the stubby, gnarled thing where
it had been tossed carelessly in the snow.
"Bella, the dagger, if you please?" Voldemort said, and Hermione tightened her
grip on Snape's hand as Bellatrix moved forward, pulling a dagger from
somewhere and handing it over, hilt-first, to Voldemort.
Her heart was racing inside her chest and she could feel Snape's magic writhing
beneath her skin alongside her own. She could still feel the tingling tendrils
of the spell that bound them in matrimony, and Hermione was terrified of the
Darkness about to worm its way into her soul.
"Severus, Hermione, kneel," Voldemort commanded.
Severus did it without hesitation, lowering himself to kneel in the snow before
the evillest man alive as though he were a revered God, and Hermione had no
choice but follow him down, kneeling beside him in the snow. He shook her hand
loose of his own, and Hermione watched him hold his wand arm out before his
Dark Lord, humbly awaiting whatever he might do. Voldemort smirked before
slicing open Severus's sleeve and digging the knife-edge into his pale flesh,
though in happiness at his servant's supplication, or just with the wickedness
of someone so twisted, Hermione wasn't sure. He drew the blade over Snape's
wrist vertically, spilling his blood and watching it run over Snape's pale skin
to coat the blade and drip into the snow at his feet. When he turned to her,
the knife gleaming with the many faint balls of Lumos light from the wands of
gathered Death Eaters, he looked even more unsettling than usual. His red eyes
seemed to positively glow in the darkness and the translucent quality of his
flesh made him look like something out of Hermione's worst nightmares. The idea
of baring her wrist to such a monster was paralysing, and her heart was racing
with fear, her muscles jumping with the overpowering urge to jump up and make a
run for it, or at the very least, the attempt to Apparate.
As though he could sense her flightiness, Lord Voldemort reached for her with
one skeletal hand, and Hermione shuddered when he trailed the tips of his
fingers over her cold cheek. He seemed almost fascinated, just daring her to
make a run for it, or to lunge for the dagger. His defiant gaze dared her save
herself from what she was about to do – what she was about to become and
Hermione knew it brought him pleasure when she jerked slightly under his
fingertips, jolting with the need to run, her thoughts warring over what might
happen to her, and what might happen to Snape, should she attempt to escape and
fail. His lips pulled into a wide smile when Hermione carefully breathed out,
controlling the urge to flee and forcing herself to submit. Voldemort gave a
low chuckle before raising his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to offer him
her wrist.
Hermione wanted to run away.
"Your wrist, Madam Snape," Voldemort said when she stared at him. He no longer
looking amused, instead growing impatient with her defiance.
Hermione balked at the address so much that her arm jerked up automatically,
and Voldemort vindictively dug the dagger into her skin, slicing it open and
watching the blood spill. Fat droplets welled and turned to little rivulets
that flowed over her skin and dripped into the snow. Before she could register
the pain of the cut, Snape took her hand, turning it inside his own and
pressing his cut to hers, mingling their blood together. Magic rushed over her,
thick and heady, and she felt the same terrible and alluring darkness that
infected his magic and his blood flitter into herself, filling her up and
staining her soul as surely as black ink spilled on fresh white linen.
Hermione moaned softly, feeling their blood and their magic mingle, forming a
blood-bond and linking them even more closely than as husband and wife. It was
heady and seductive, making her heart race and her body thrum with delight.
When Snape guided their joined hands to the ground, Hermione opened her eyes
once more, watching as he pushed their hands through the thick layer of snow
upon the ground until they reached the earth beneath it. A throb of magic from
the earth rushed through her and Hermione moaned again, pushing back
instinctively with her own magic. She felt Snape's magic flare, too, racing
against hers, interweaving and tangling before he directed it into the earth.
The ground beneath them shuddered and Hermione felt a wicked sense of rightness
when her magic throbbed again, feeling the pull of the telluric currents
beneath the ground and sensing the full extent of the land belonging to Selwyn
Hall. She could feel that the Earth was hungry for her blood and the magic that
pulsed within her soul.
"Rise," Voldemort said, and without thought, Hermione did as she was bid, her
bleeding wrist still pressed to Snape's.
Voldemort offered Snape the knife when they stood before him and Severus took
it carefully.
"You know the ritual, Severus," Voldemort said when Severus glanced at her, and
Hermione raised her eyebrows, realising he was thinking of taking Umbridge's
life alone, as though he might spare her from the alluring Darkness of murder.
Snape nodded tightly, holding his free arm out to her in silence. His
expression invited her in and Hermione found her feet moving, unbidden, until
she stood within his embrace. He looped his arm around her middle carefully,
turning her body until she stood before him with her back pressed to his chest.
She could feel the straining bulge in his trousers rubbing against her bottom
through the clothing the both wore as he curled his arms around her carefully,
offering her the hilt of the dagger.
Hermione hesitated, fear coiling through her blood and making her dizzy. When
she didn't immediately take the dagger, Snape's free hand traced up the length
of her body, his fingertips dancing over the valley between her breasts before
skimming up the length of her throat until he cupped her jaw. She quivered in
his arms when he gently turned her head to meet his gaze over her shoulder.
His dark eyes glittered with warning and lust. Hermione recognised in an
instant that he was trying to convey that she had no choice but to take the
dagger. Voldemort would force her hand if she didn't do it of her own volition.
Hermione trembled when she caught the terrible darkness within him pulsing and
quivering with the urge to take Umbridge's life. She could see it glittering
lustfully in his eyes. He wanted this. He wanted to kill the witch. He revelled
in the way she'd begun to sob and cry where Dolohov had pinned her. Maybe he
even wanted Hermione to help him take Umbridge's life.
She could feel his arousal against her backside, and she could sense the
darkness inside of him as it frolicked, unchecked. And he meant to infect her
with that same darkness. He'd vowed he would, and if he didn't, he would die.
Hermione gulped, her knees beginning to knock together. She might hate
Umbridge, and wish terrible things upon her, but she didn't know if she could
do it.
Could she take the dagger and wield it? Could she commit murder in cold blood
while the pathetic woman sobbed and wriggled in Antonin Dolohov's tight grip.
She knelt like a pig chained for slaughter, the wretched pink shades she garbed
herself in lending to the imagery and making Hermione wish she'd never even
been born a witch, for one terrible moment.
Snape's fingers were light upon her skin and he surprised her when he leaned
down a little, pressing his lips to hers briefly and stealing some of her fear,
replacing it with tingles of delight.
"Take the dagger, Hermione," he commanded softly when he pulled away, his voice
husky and intimate, meant for her ears alone. It unnerved her how positively
reasonable and kind he sounded. She was sure that if he spent more time using
that tone when reasoning with his students, they'd all call him their favourite
teacher. Quivering in his hold just a little, her lips tingling from his kiss
and her heart kicking out an uneven beat against her ribcage, Hermione did as
she was told.
She curled her fingers around the handle, feeling the Darkness and the
bloodlust of the dagger, itself, as she touched it. She almost dropped it in
fear, but before she could, Snape curled his hand around hers, his large hand
encircling her small one, fingers brushing her skin and the dagger, both.
"You know the words?" he murmured, his lips by her ear.
Hermione nodded numbly, having learned about Lordship ceremonies in History of
Magic during her fifth year when they'd finally moved on from Goblin Wars.
"Say them," Severus said, his lips brushing her earlobe and making her body
clench needily.
Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Hermione opened her mouth and spoke the
ritualistic words, listening to Snape recite them alongside her, his silken
voice like the purest sin, filling her mind.
" Leis an fhuil agus an ìobairt seo, agus an draoidheachd annam, tha mi a
'tagradh tighearnas nan tìrean sin. "
As they spoke the last word, Snape guided her hand upon the dagger, closing the
distance between them and Umbridge. The first slash opened the robe the witch
wore and scored the flesh of her chest and her belly. Umbridge screamed, but
the magic had ensnared her by then, and so Hermione barely heard the shrill
cries of protest. Methodically, his hand guiding the blade, Severus and
Hermione cut open Dolores Umbridge's robes, before opening her flesh. Hermione
felt the terrible throbs of magic pulsing through her as, together, they
plunged the blade into her diaphragm.
Driving the dagger into the flesh, Snape curled his hand around her free hand
too, and Hermione watched in horror and terrible schadenfreude as he guided
their hands to powerfully and forcefully crack open the woman's ribcage, magic
guiding their strength and breaking her sternum with as much ease as snapping a
biscuit.
Umbridge gurgled out a scream as Dolohov held her still. Severus guided the
dagger to hack her lungs out of the way when they'd opened her ribcage like
terrible red and white bars of a cell guarding the wildly racing heart inside
her chest. Hermione could feel her magic pulsing through the ground, through
Severus, through the blade. A flick of the dagger severed the arteries that led
to the madly thumping organ and Umbridge's screams ended as, together, they cut
the heart from her chest.
Blood stained the dagger and their skin as Snape guided the blade with one more
wicked twist to Umbridge's throat. He reached for Hermione's chin with his
bloodied free hand and turned her head, claiming her lips again as he twitched
the knife, slashing the witch's throat and ending her life.
Magic exploded through her as Hermione's free hand clenched around the heart
they'd cut from Umbridge's chest, her tongue tangled with Severus's and her
whole body pulsing and throbbing.
When he pulled away, he was breathing hard and his eyes were wild with lust and
the thrill of the kill, and Hermione knew hers were, too.
"Leis an fhuil agus an ìobairt seo, agus an draoidheachd annam, tha mi a
'tagradh tighearnas nan tìrean sin," he repeated hoarsely, invoking the spell.
"Leis an fhuil agus an ìobairt seo, agus an draoidheachd annam, tha mi a
'tagradh tighearnas nan tìrean sin." Hermione mimicked breathlessly, the spell
ending on a cry as Darkness invaded the new rip in her soul and magic exploded
through her and through Severus, rushing through the Earth beneath their feet
and lighting up the telluric currents that ran through the property of Selwyn
Hall, tying their magic and their blood to the land as they claimed lordship of
it.
Purple and green magic lit up their skin and the night sky, illuminating the
cheering gathered Death Eaters against the snow and casting terrifying shadows
over the Dark Lord as he smiled widely and began to laugh his terrible, death-
rattle laugh that set Hermione's teeth on edge. She dropped the heart and the
dagger in the snow, forgotten as the magic pulsed through her core. Turning in
Snape's hold, Hermione tangled her bloodied hands into his hair and pulled his
mouth to hers, claiming his lips for an intoxicating kiss.
He snogged her hotly, his lips and his tongue laying claim to hers while her
thoughts whirled in a wild inferno of lust and joy and pure magic. She stopped
caring about the other Death Eaters or the Dark Lord as Snape's hands slid
under her arse, lifting her until she could wrap her legs around his slim
waist. Her body pulsed and thrummed with need, her heart racing inside her
chest, and the place between her legs throbbing with the urge to be filled. His
belt buckle was cold against her core when he ground against her, as caught in
the arousal and the unrelenting urge to fuck as she was.
When he lowered her into the snow a short way from the grisly scene of their
slaughter, Hermione was mindless with lust. The skirts of her dress were
ruffled, but unmarked thanks to her repelling charms. He shoved them aside with
ease, his hands unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers. Hermione
couldn't have said if they had an audience by the time he thrust inside her.
She couldn't think, let alone see to know if anyone watched him fuck her right
there in the snow. The feel of him impaling her on his glorious cock made her
clench with delight and Hermione pulled him down on top of her, immune to the
cold of the snow she lay in.
"Fuck," she heard Severus curse by her ear before he latched onto her throat,
suckling her delicate flesh and making her writhe as he ground into her hard.
He set a hard pace, his hands tangling with hers in the snow, pinning them
above her head as he fucked her. He was so warm, and it felt so good that
Hermione couldn't even catch her breath. She was alive with magic and firing
synapses and all she could see was Severus Snape and all she could feel was his
magic so gloriously tangled with her own. She clamped around him tightly, her
body taut with need and thrumming with energy and already on the brink of
shattering into a million tiny pieces.
Adrenaline coursed through her, making her dizzy and she nipped his neck and
his jaw, mewling with the building pressure deep inside of her that threatened
to snap free. He fucked her harder with every clamp of her body around him.
"Fucking hell," she heard him mutter. "So fucking tight. So good."
Hermione sobbed when he curled one of her legs up over his shoulder, altering
the angle as he drilled into her.
"Oh, gods, Severus!" she cried out, her head tossing from side to side, her
body arching under his as everything pulled taut before it snapped free.
Hermione screamed with the release as the waves of pleasure crashed over her,
magic and happiness and something terrible and Dark filling her to the brim and
exploding free. The earth beneath them pulsed with it and Snape cursed foully,
his hips jerking before he hissed in a breath, dragged into orgasm along with
her. His hands tightened around hers and his cock twitched deep inside her
before his seed spilled free, filling her and making her groan.
He collapsed on top of her when he was done, and Hermione breathed heavily,
trying to catch her breath and trying to think straight. He wasn't heavy enough
to crush her, but she could feel the snow soaking into her dress and Hermione
squirmed under him as the cold seeped into her skin.
"Am I hurting you?" he asked quietly, his breath puffing softly against the
side of her neck.
"No," Hermione whispered. "It's just really cold in this snow when I'm wearing
strappy heels, no knickers, and no cloak."
Releasing her hands slowly, he lifted himself off her until he loomed over her,
peering into her face curiously.
"Are we alone?" she asked, not daring to take her eyes from his face, fearful
of finding the other Death Eaters all watching her.
"Not exactly," Snape said, his lips twisting when his eyes darted up to survey
their surroundings. "The brethren are gone. The Dark Lord ordered them to
Dolohov Park to begin Antonin's Lordship ritual. But there was a small mess to
clean up here."
Hermione frowned in confusion, her brain foggy with the intensity of the magic
they'd made and the haze of recent orgasm, and Snape nodded toward something to
her left. Turning her head carefully, Hermione squinted in the dark, realizing
that he was referring to the bloodied and broken body of Umbridge where it had
fallen after they'd taken her life. Shapes moved in the darkness around the
remains and Hermione frowned until one of the shapes moved far enough to reveal
eerily glowing eyes of yellow and green.
Werewolves.
"Are they… transformed?" Hermione asked, frowning.
"Greyback's newest trick. He no longer needs the moon to force the change in
his Pack," Snape said quietly. "They're cleaning up the mess we made."
"Is he with them?" Hermione asked fearfully.
Snape's mouth twisted as he lifted himself off of her and offered her a hand
up. Hermione took it gratefully, watching him tuck himself back into his
trousers while she fixed her skirts.
"Don't scream," he warned softly before turning her with gentle hands on her
shoulders. Directly behind her, sitting a few meters from where she'd just been
lying in the snow was an enormous grey wolf. He was gnawing on what appeared to
be a leg bone, but his yellow eyes were fixed upon her.
He'd obviously been watching them while he feasted, spying on them while they
fucked.
"Is he…?" Hermione frowned, unsure she even wanted to ask.
"Aware?" Snape guessed. "Yes. His control over the beast within is such that he
no longer loses his mind or his memory, no matter the phase of the moon of the
form he takes. Greyback is… curious… about you."
"That sounds… ominous," Hermione said, her stomach knotting with fear the
longer she eyed the enormous werewolf.
"It's because of your pack-bond to Lupin. The mingling of our blood and our
magic for the ceremony has extended the pack-bond you carried over to me. It
speaks to the wolf in Fenrir. He's torn between claiming the pair of us for his
own pack, and wanting to follow you back to Lupin."
"Neither would be preferable," Hermione said, taking a small step back from the
enormous wolf and pressing herself firmly to Snape's chest.
"I need to get you home," he told her softly, nodding Greyback away from them
when he felt the way she trembled.
The wolf ignored him, continuing to eye them, and Hermione closed her eyes when
Snape curled an arm around her middle and apparated them both with a sharp
crack.
He didn't take them far, only into the house, from what she could tell.
"What?" Hermione asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "You're not going
to carry me across the threshold."
He spun on her so quickly the moment they were alone that the breath rushed
from her lungs. One of his hands tunnelled into her hair, heedless of the pins
holding it up, and he invaded her space until his chest brushed hers.
"Is that what you want, Hermione?" he asked, his voice a low, silken purr that
made her pussy throb needily.
She hated that she did want that. She knew she shouldn't. She was covered in
blood after committing murder. She was married to a man whose capacity for
darkness and cruelty boggled her mind. And yet she felt the strangest, silly
notion that if she had to be married to him, she had to do it right. It was why
she'd vowed to love him amid the wedding ceremony, even though she currently
doubted her feelings were so deep as to be labelled fancying him, let alone
loving him.
"You want to be carried across the threshold of your new home and fucked by
your new husband to properly consummate our new marriage?" he challenged, just
daring her to say 'yes'.
"What if I do?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
He narrowed his eyes on her, a cruel smile crawling across his face. Hermione
squeaked when he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest and turning.
She pressed her lips together on the urge to giggle when he carried her up the
stairs two at a time, surprising her that he would actually do it. He didn't
speak as he carried her through the maze of corridors to a large door at the
end of a hallway.
Wandlessly, he opened it and Hermione peered inside, spying an extravagant
king-sized bed topped with plush pillows and decadent blankets. He paused
dramatically before carrying her over the threshold of the bedroom and Hermione
felt a little thrum inside herself as he carried her right past the bed and
into the washroom.
He set her down inside the lavish bathroom and Hermione met his gaze in the
mirror when he stood behind her at the bathroom sink. The reality of what he'd
just done, what it signified, slowly sank in as she stood there eyeing their
reflections. She had blood on her face and staining her arms from elbow to
fingertip. A bloodstain in the shape of his hand marred her cheek and Hermione
recalled with alarming clarity the feel of his hand on her face and his lips on
hers as they'd worked together to break open Umbridge's chest and cut out her
heart before slitting her throat.
Bile rose inside her stomach and his lips twisted when Hermione bent over the
sink, vomiting in her sudden horror. He turned away as she coughed, emptying
her stomach of everything she'd eaten at the feast. Hermione listened as he
turned on the taps of the shower and scrubbed his hands clean beneath the
spray. When they were blood free, he returned to her, offering her a
handkerchief to wipe her mouth before his fingers found the laces of her corset
and began unwinding them.
"Are you going into shock?" he asked quietly when a tear slipped down her
cheek.
Hermione shook her head, rinsing out her mouth thoroughly but unable to speak
when the horror and the terror and the wretched, pulsing throb of dark joy
seemed to fill her up so completely.
"I cannot remove the memory for you, Miss Granger," he said quietly as he
unlaced her corset until the dress hung loose, waiting to be peeled from her
body.
"It's Lady Snape, now," she corrected him quietly and his eyes lifted to her in
the mirror, all expression dropping from his face.
"It is," he agreed. "And it will be until the day one of us dies."
Hermione nodded thickly, knowing there was no way to undo anything they'd done.
She closed her eyes when more tears welled to find she wasn't sure she
even wanted to undo what they'd done.
"Does it ever go away?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer, and she opened her eyes, seeing his raised eyebrows as he
waited for clarification.
"This… this… thrumming joy," she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest where
the terrible thrumming sense of darkness and wickedness and seduction seemed to
have taken root.
"No," he said. "It never goes away. It only grows. You've been infected with
the darkness now. You will be drawn to Dark magic and to doing Dark things from
now until the day you die."
Hermione closed her eyes, nodding. She'd read about that. She knew there was no
escaping the infection once it set in. Like an addiction to some alluring
narcotic, it would gnaw at her psyche forevermore, as it surely did to him.
"You looked beautiful this evening, Granger," he told her gently as he traced
his fingertips over the tops of her shoulders, peeling open the sheer fabric
that clung to her chest and her arms, intent on undressing her.
"Thank you," she said automatically.
"Drink this," he told her when he'd peeled her out of her dress, going so far
as to lift her out of it when the puffy skirt held the shape about her legs
even when her chest was bared and free of the corset.
Hermione blinked, turning to face him as he fished a phial from one of his
pockets and handed it to her.
"What is it?" she frowned.
"Your Christmas present," he said.
"You got me a Christmas present?" Hermione asked, frowning in shock before
blurting the most obvious and unhelpful thing she could. "It's not Christmas
until tomorrow."
He shrugged, handing her the phial.
Hermione uncorked it, bringing it to her nose and sniffing the contents.
"Black star-root?" she frowned. "Tansy. Mint. Is that… chamomile? Lavender.
Ergot… What is this?"
She lifted her eyes to his face once more, finding that his lips were twitching
at her ability to identify so many of the ingredients despite her distress and
despite standing before him naked. He'd effectively distracted her, she
realized, making her forget her horror and her fear but giving her a simple
problem to solve. Hermione didn't say it, but she was grateful for that.
"A contraceptive potion," he said quietly.
"They make me ill," Hermione protested. "Believe me, you won't like it when I
lose all appetite and stop eating, or if I pack on the pounds like I'm stocking
up on energy in preparation for hibernation, Snape."
"You imagine me stupid enough to have included the ingredients from the
previous three potions you tried that made you ill?" he asked, raising his
eyebrows in challenge.
"I didn't tell you what I'd taken," she frowned at him.
"I'm a Professor at Hogwarts, Miss Granger. I have access to your medical
records."
"You read my files?" Hermione asked, shocked at the invasion of privacy and yet
somehow touched by the thought.
His lips twisted into a brief, cold smile and Hermione sighed.
"You're sure it's not going to make me fat?" she asked.
He arched one eyebrow. "I'm expected to carry you over thresholds, wife. I have
no intention of making that any harder on myself that it need be."
Hermione giggled.
"I think the threshold carrying is supposed to be a one-time thing, husband."
He curled his lip at her, apparently not thrilled about the new title. Hermione
smiled before tipping the phial to her lips and gulping down the liquid inside.
It tasted surprisingly sweet, like syrup on her tongue and Hermione wiped her
mouth, handing the phial back to him when he held his hand out for it.
"You need to bathe that blood off," he informed her sternly and Hermione caught
the way he seemed torn between the Death Eater and the Professor persona the
longer he looked at her.
"Care to help me?" Hermione offered, hoping she could lure him into the shower
with her.
"I need to contact the Order and let them know you're safe. When you are bathed
and clean, I will return you to them."
Hermione raised her eyebrows before propping her hands on her hips.
"Perhaps it slipped you notice, Severus, but you and I were just married. If
you think I'm about to spend my wedding night being raged at by Harry Potter
and sobbed over by Molly Weasley, you aren't as clever as you look."
"I have already consummated the union and carried you over the threshold, Miss
Granger. What more do you want?" he demanded.
"Lady Snape," she corrected him, reaching for the front of his robes and
beginning to pop the buttons free of their holes, intent on stripping him. "And
I want you to fuck me against the wall of that shower until I scream loud
enough to make those werewolves outside howl."
His eyes flashed at her in warning, but Hermione could practically watch the
teacherly persona fade away into the depths of his psyche as the Darkness
glinted in his eyes and he was all Death Eater all over again. Hermione
smirked, her fingers flying over his buttons as she leaned into him, kissing
his neck and nipping his collarbone as she pried his robes from his shoulders
before unbuckling his belt and quivering at the rasp of his fly. His fingers
tunneled into her hair as she shoved his trousers down his legs and he pulled
her curls harshly when he tried to toe out of his boots whilst attempting to
remove the sapphire clips from her hair.
"Ouch!" she hissed, pulling back and swatting his bare chest before waving a
hand at him to indicate he should remove his own shoes and socks while she
untangled her hair.
She stepped out of her high heels, prying the clips from her hair and setting
them down on the bathroom sink. Just as she pulled the last one free, her curls
spilling down her back, it occurred to her that she might one day wish she'd
gotten to take a pretty picture of the two of them on their wedding day, but
before the thought could take root, Snape walked up behind her, one hand
pressing on the small of her back and forcing her to bend.
She realized what he wanted when he glanced at her in the mirror, his hand
already smoothing up and down his jutting erection. Poking her bum out and
revealing her pink quim, Hermione smirked at him in the mirror. She wasn't sure
if it was shock setting it, or if she was flirting with the Darkness, but right
then she wanted him to fuck her until her knees buckled. Slick from their
earlier coupling, his cock slid in easily, filling her up and stretching her to
capacity. Hermione groaned, closing her eyes at the wicked sensations that
raced up and down her spine when he sank deep until his pelvic bone bumped her
arse.
She was still covered in blood, but from the way he watched her so intently in
the mirror, Hermione suspected Snape kind of liked that. He twisted an
unforgiving hand into her loose curls, bowing her body while he gripped her hip
with the other hand, withdrawing before plunging into her again. Hermione
mewled at the wicked thrum of pleasure through her veins, pushing back into
each thrust as he built to a steady rhythm. Every stroke nudged her g-spot and
goosepimples rushed over her skin when he bucked deep inside her, making her
ache just a little.
He didn't speak, but Hermione hadn't expected him to. He simply fucked her.
Fucked her and watched her as the panic began to glitter in her eyes, the
pleasure overriding everything else as it threatened to snap free. Before she
could topple over the edge, he drove in hard and froze, pulling her body
straight by his grip of her hair before curling the hand on her hip around the
rest on her womb and the hand in her hair slid free to collar her throat
lightly. Hermione whined in protest at the pause even as he dragged her
backward, still lodged deep inside her, pulling her under the spray of the
shower.
The cascade of scalding water over her chilled flesh combined with the feel of
him inside her pushed her over the edge and Hermione tipped her head back,
leaning against his shoulder as the orgasm crested with her.
"Oh, fuck," she whispered, her body spasming and her knees buckling with the
power of her release.
Snape's low chuckle was sinful and wicked, and positively smug but Hermione was
too lost to the thrill of shagging him to care. She relaxed back against him,
sighing softly when she felt the way the little bits of his magic interwoven
with hers seemed to sparkle and glitter within her warmly.
"Did you imagine we were done?" he drawled when she leaned there enjoying the
spray and trying to catch her breath. "I seem to recall being told to fuck you
until you scream loud enough to make the wolves howl, Lady Snape."
"I have no objections to that," she told him, turning her head and stretching
on her toes to kiss his neck softly.
He laughed again as he turned her body, lifting her hands and scrubbing his
fingers down the length of them, washing off the blood staining her skin.
Hermione kissed his skin, breathing in the increasingly familiar scent of him,
like bergamot and peppermint. When the blood was washed from her arms, she
tangled her fingers with his, interlacing them and liking the way the wedding
bands they each bore glittered in the low light of the bathroom.
He nipped her shoulder hard enough to leave a welt as he lifted their hands,
turning her toward the wall and pressing their joined hands to it before
rocking back until just the very tip of his cock was nestled in her snug,
throbbing pussy. He impaled her torturously slow, inch after glorious inch
creeping back inside her only to be withdrawn again. Hermione just knew he was
planning to draw it out, to lure the scream all the way up from her toes so
that when she came undone the windows might crack with the power of it. He
nipped her shoulder again, the sharp sting soothed with a lave of his tongue
and Hermione arched, pushing back into the slow thrusts, grinding herself onto
him hungrily.
The brush of his magic along the length of hers made her whimper and Hermione
shuddered, turning her head in his direction and nuzzling her cheek against his
jaw. She pushed back with her own magic and he nipped her earlobe, his hips
bucking, driving him deep suddenly when he'd been going so slow to torment her.
She squeaked when he withdrew completely, untangling their hands and turning
her to face him. He was dripping wet, she noticed, blinking at him through the
haze of desire and pleasure he'd incited. His ink-black hair was plastered
against his shoulders and clinging to his face. His lashes, the same inky
shade, captured droplets from the spray of the shower and he had five o'clock
shadow darkening his pointed jaw. He watched her with eyes so intense, she
quivered beneath his gaze.
Hermione reached for him slowly, leaning against the wall of the shower and
tracing her fingers over his chest. His flesh was littered with scars and he
had a sparse, thin layer of hair dusting his chest and running in a narrow
strip south from his navel. She traced that too, smiling a little when he
tensed at the touch, ticklish under her fingers. He twitched when she combed
her fingers through the nest of black curls surrounding his jutting erection
and Hermione couldn't hold back a grin when he dropped his head back, groaning
when she wrapped her fist tightly around his cock and pumped her hand up and
down.
She took her time, learning his length and shape as she hadn't really had the
chance in the past. Hermione groaned when his hands lifted to cup her breasts,
pinching her nipples lightly and making her crazy. When he slid a hand down
over her hip and down the back of her thigh before curling one of her legs up
over his bony hipbone, Hermione knew she was driving him mad, too.
"Fuck," she heard him swear as he sheathed himself inside her once more, the
magic between them flaring and sparking wildly. He burrowed his face into her
neck, biting and suckling at her flesh, drawing the blood to the surface in a
love bite before he relinquished all control.
Hermione's eyes closed, and her mind was lost amid the sea of pleasure when he
let go of all finesse and tenderness. He drove up into her hard enough that she
had to rise on her toes to keep from the stabbing, brutal pain of each thrust
hitting her womb and making her ache. He was rough then, rougher than he'd ever
been with her.
He nipped her hard enough to leave marks, nipping her neck, her jaw, her cheek
and her lower lip like he couldn't get enough of her. He drove into her so hard
that he took her off her feet and Hermione curled both legs around him,
plastered to the wall of the shower with her spine grating against the tiles as
Severus Snape let go. She could feel the power and the darkness and the poison
of this life inside him, writhing and bubbling, boiling over and spilling free
and she knew that right then every emotion he'd bottled up right up until the
moment was all channeling into her and out of him through this wild ravishing
that made her ache in ways she didn't know she could.
The relentless pleasure drove her over the edge and as he'd surely intended,
the scream worked its way up from the very tips of her toes and tore free of
her throat raggedly. In the distance the wolves on the grounds howled in
response but their eerie calls were drowned out when Snape roared as he came,
jerking into her harder and pounding one fist in to the wall beside her head.
Hermione flinched, shuddering and digging her nails into his back hard enough
to leave marks.
She trembled against him when he let her down, her legs sliding the length of
his body, her knees weak beneath her. Tangling her hands into his hair,
Hermione pulled his lips to hers, kissing him hungrily but before she could do
more than brush her tongue along the length of his, he pushed away from the
wall with a snarl.
Hermione squeaked in surprise when he pulled away, stalking out of the shower,
and then right out of the bathroom like a whipped dog without looking back.
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