Summary: In the ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts, Severus Snape has worked very hard to free himself from his old life in order to become a respected Headmaster. Of course, his wife Hermione loves him regardless, but will an innocent board game change the entire future of their marriage, not to mention Severus’ view of his own kindler, gentler self? Written as a gift for the incomparable Subvers in the LJ 2011 SSHG Exchange.
Characters:: Hermione Granger, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Severus Snape
Genres: Drama, Epilogue, What Epilogue?, Erotica, Romance, Smut Warnings: none
This story is for the mighty and wonderful Subversa, whose stories inspire, delight and amaze. If this fic gives you a tenth of the pleasure your work has given me, I will count myself blessed.
Anti-Litigation Charm: The characters in this story belong to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter books and watching the films die twice—once on a dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack, and later in a boathouse we’d never heard of before. You can tell I’m a little bitter about it, but that’s what happens when you mess with my friends.
I want to just put in another thanks to stgulik, my incredible beta, for making this particular chapter flow. She instructed me to craft it like ‘an Aleister Crowley incantation’, and I tried to do my best. More about this in the Author’s notes at the end.
Please note that this section contains very graphic sexual content involving light bondage and discipline. The acts are safe, sane and consensual, and intended to give pleasure, not to inflict harm, but this is totally unsuitable for persons under eighteen years of age.
And this story is dedicated to my beloved Dahlra, who is first, last and always, my Father Figure.
This story contains explicit sexual content. And I do mean explicit.
The only thing I would like is to have more control of the game in terms of possession. Jose Mourinho
Hermione landed on her hands and knees with a muttered “Shit!” under her breath, still clutching the tiny key. Portkey travel was the least enjoyable of Wizarding modes of transportation, even if it was the most efficient.
Standing up and brushing off her robes, Hermione looked around with a gasp. She was in what could only be a large cave, buried deep in the rock. The air was fresh, and left a salty tang on her tongue. She could hear the distant booming of surf, leading her to believe the cave must be on the coast.
The walls glittered with geodes, and the floor was so even as to appear magically leveled. Torchlight refracted gemstones in every corner; crystals of quartz, amethyst, citrine, aquamarine, emerald, ruby. Every colour of the rainbow was represented – warm, soothing kaleidoscopes of light and shade that could only be produced with powerful magic. A faint sound echoed throughout the space, like low, deep bells chiming in the wind, lulling her. Hermione had never seen or heard anything so beautiful.
As she turned toward the inside of the cave, her breath caught. Deeply cut into the side wall, a huge fireplace stood, its mantle made of crystal geodes. A roaring fire blazed within, giving the enormous space warmth. The firelight reflected in the crystals, making them gleam with unspeakable splendor.
A massive bed stood guard in one corner, its ebony posts rising impossibly high. Carvings of vines and flowers magically bloomed and shifted on the tall beams and the head and footboard, entwining over the bed itself. It was heaped with pillows and quilts of fine silk and velvet in shades of green varying from deep emerald to sage. They simply begged to be touched and laid upon. It was the most hedonistic bed Hermione had ever seen; it was all she could do not to tear her clothing from her body and lie down upon it.
Above the headboard was a huge picture rendered in stained and coloured glass. It illustrated a couple making love on the same bed that stood before it. As the man’s head turned toward her, Hermione gasped with shock. It was her husband, his face transported with rapture. He lowered his lips against the woman’s throat, and Hermione recognised her own countenance, alight with passion. Her body in the picture arched into her lover’s kiss, writhing against Severus in erotic torment. She could not take her eyes from the sight of the dark wizard rearing above her body. It was so real as to appear like a Muggle movie projected onto a stained-glass screen.
Finally, tearing her eyes away from the two lovers, she peered down into the darkness. The cave was vast; she could not see the far end of it, even though torch-like sconces marched down the walls toward the inner walls deep inside.
“I trust you’re unharmed from the journey.” Hermione jumped with a little squeak of surprise, and from the impenetrable depths of the cave emerged her husband.
His pale face seemed to float from the misty gloom around him, and as he appeared, the sconces behind him blazed into life. His robe was the same unfathomable black of his eyes, and he moved with somber, unsmiling grace, his face haughty and ethereal. He looked like a pagan Prince of Darkness; proud, cruel, fierce.
No one knew how to make an entrance like Severus Snape.
To cover up her nervousness, Hermione laughed shortly. “Yes, I’m fine!” she replied, taking a shaky breath to calm her racing heart. Looking around, she asked, “What is this place? It’s incredible!”
He was as still as a stone, watching her intently. Finally, when he spoke, his beautiful voice raced around the cave, until it felt as if it surrounded her on all sides. “I will answer your questions in time. For now, you are required only to speak when I give you permission. Do you accept this?”
Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest. In her initial excitement, she had almost forgotten why she had been Portkeyed here. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” he purred, and held out his hand to her. “Come.” She gratefully melted into his embrace, and gave a soft cry of fulfillment as his long arms wrapped around her invitingly.
As she pressed longingly against his lean frame, she asked breathlessly, “Did I please you?”
She could hear his voice vibrating like a low bell in his chest. “You have pleased me very much, Hermione. This calls for a special reward. We will begin.” He stepped away from her, and turned to escort her deep into the back of the cave. Obediently, Hermione followed her husband into the depths. Never had she felt so feverish with want. This was it. The moment she had longed for. She had no doubt that whatever she needed, Severus would make it so.
They walked through a long, narrow tunnel, the lights blazing into life as they passed. As they walked, Severus explained, “This cave once belonged to Dumbledore. We are on the coast of Ireland. Years ago, when you were still in school in fact, Dumbledore brought me here after my first summons when Riddle returned.”
He continued as they walked, “During the war, I would often come here to recover from my meetings with Riddle and the Death Eaters. This cave became my refuge, my sanity-preserver.”
Hermione watched him as they moved deeper into the recesses. Severus kept his eyes forward, moving slowly, down into the depths of the cave. “Dumbledore deeded me the cave. I found myself drawn back to this spot upon his death, and for awhile, after I recovered from the war, I actually lived here.”
There were so many questions Hermione wanted to ask, but he had not as yet given her permission to speak. Severus continued, “When you and I agreed to enter this … agreement, I knew this was the perfect place; away from the prying eyes of Hogwarts, away from everything you had ever known, so that I was your only fixed point of reference.” He stopped, and took her hand in his. “I had never considered bringing you here before, because until now, this was a place that I only associated with pain, anger and despair. I did not want to expose you to those things.
“Many nights after having to bear witness to the atrocities performed in the Dark Revels, being forced to participate or to observe, I would retreat to this place. I would weep, scream the walls down, drink myself to insensibility, all the while cursing Tom Riddle – and Dumbledore. Sometimes, even Potter and you,” he said, a note of regret in his voice. “Mostly myself. This cave became my counselor; it has listened to my ravings and my plots and my hurt, and the walls have absorbed them. There is darkness here; but it is my darkness. I knew this would be the place in which to initiate you.”
He looked down at her. “The darkness has changed, but the passions and desires I left behind remain here. They are waiting for you, and some of them will frighten you.” His voice was a low throbbing whisper. With a smirk, he added, “Are you afraid?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, sir,” she replied, her voice suspiciously hoarse. If she were a betting witch, she would have laid odds he was thinking one word: Gryffindor.
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you should be. We’ll see.” The smile that had played on his lips faded, and he added, “What have you decided will be your safe word?”
Hermione, momentarily derailed at this seemingly non sequitor, blankly replied, “Safe word?”
Severus nodded, a look of haughty disdain in his eyes. “A safe word is used when – “
“F-forgive me, sir,” Hermione answered, her voice unsteady. “I understand the concept of a safe word, but I didn’t think-”
“No, you did not. Hence, the interruption,” he drawled. With exaggerated patience, he explained, “Our interactions here together will cause you to experience a heightened… intensity, shall we say, which may overwhelm you. I will assure you, Miss Granger, begging me to stop will not be an option. Your cries for mercy will only make me …” he smiled wolfishly. “Push. You. Harder.”
Hermione suddenly felt very young and inexperienced next to his cold elegance. She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry.
“Well, pet? What is your safe word?” Each word was spoken with trip-hammer precision, as low and deadly as a viper. Hermione felt a sense of déjà vu that was frightening and exciting in equal measures. It was like being eighteen again, alone with her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I will do unspeakable things to Miss Granger, and I will enjoy doing them.
She looked up at his face; he waited with thinly disguised impatience for her answer. Fearful that her hesitation would further displease him, she said the first word that came into her head. “Bumbershoot.”
Severus looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Indeed.”
Hermione felt confused. “Does this mean that, if I say my safe word, we won’t – umm,” she hesitated, unsure how to word her misgivings correctly. Finally, she said, weakly, “Does this mean we would leave and never return to – to this?”
Severus regarded her thoughtfully. “That remains to be seen, pet. For now, it means we will stop what we are doing, and try to redress the balance, as it were. Do you understand?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Severus nodded, and raised his arm, like a conductor preparing to give a downbeat. The last of the wall sconces flared to life, and the walls of the cave were bathed in warm, flickering light. Severus beckoned to her. “This is your last chance to turn away, Hermione. Enter this chamber with me, and you accept all that is contained therein.” He held out his hand, his cool dominance surrounding him like smoke and vapour.
Hermione could feel her hand shake as she placed her smaller hand in his. The light in the very back of the cave rose, bringing the room into view, glowing with a deep, crimson light.
She gasped. It was like looking into a medieval torture chamber.
A huge, X-shaped cross stood on one side of the floor, bristling with restraints. On one wall hung several different floggers, ranging from small paddles to a cat-o-nine tails, made from strips of soft leather. There were silken scarves, leather straps, and chains made of heavy links. An unusual chair sat on the side of the room, its arms seemingly floating independently from the rest of the chair. In the middle, a large, padded table stood waist high. It looked like something that would be found in a Muggle doctor’s surgery. It, too, was covered in restraints, straps, and buckles.
Hermione stepped into the room, her heart pounding so fast she felt close to hyperventilating. So absorbed was she that when Severus placed his hand on the back of her neck she jumped a little, and he chuckled darkly.
“Afraid now, Miss Granger?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Hermione nodded. She was afraid to speak, afraid she might cry. In that moment, she was as close as she would ever come to turning around and telling him she had changed her mind.
The hand on her neck was firm, and he whispered into her ear, “You should be afraid. Fear will feed my desire, pet. If you are frightened, it will be because you wish to be frightened. Do you honestly believe that anything in this room will be done without your consent?”
Hermione shook her head, relieved. “No sir.” She tried to stop trembling, but he was right. The adrenaline that had been fueled by fear was turning to lust in her blood, rushing through her veins with spiky anticipation. “I want this. I want everything you wish me to experience.”
“Good girl,” he breathed in her ear, caressing it with his lips, and Hermione’s pussy clenched almost painfully. From behind, Severus held out his hand. “Your wand.”
Obediently, Hermione placed her wand in his waiting palm. At that moment, she turned and glanced upward into his eyes. He looked imperious and a little aloof, and this excited her as well as worried her a little. He knew better than most how frightening it was for anyone to relinquish their wand to another. He also knew how intimidating he could be, and he did nothing to alleviate her unease.
He stepped back, and Hermione heard him whisper, “Lavestitus!” A strange movement at her shoulders made Hermione shiver, and she watched in surprise as her clothing literally melted from her body, as if it had turned to chocolate and was sliding down her skin, leaving Hermione completely naked. The air in the cave seemed to drop several degrees, and she began to tremble, whether from fear or anticipation, she was not sure. Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her breasts from the cold and her insecurity.
“Arms down.” His voice was not loud, but carried such silken menace that Hermione obeyed instantly. She stood very still as he walked slowly around her, hands behind his back. It reminded Hermione of her old professor, stalking through a Potions lecture; wary and watchful, in his element, in command.
“Lovely. Skin like alabaster,” he murmured, his voice soft and sinister. Warm fingers glided across her back, down over the smooth skin of her thighs. His large hand cupped her bottom, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the touch he had denied her for the past three days.
“So soft,” he purred, and his drifting fingers traced the cleft of her bottom from the top of her spine to her thighs. “And so wet I can smell it.” His voice sounded coldly ragged, then it changed again, became menacing, more velvety as he leaned in close. “Have you abstained? Have you saved yourself for me?”
“No. I mean, yes, I have abstained,” Hermione added hastily, and fought the urge to beg to be touched.
He nodded slowly, as if trying to make up his mind about something. “It seems you are trying very hard to be a good girl.” He could see her shiver at his soft, silvery tone. As if on cue, he stepped out of arm’s reach, holding out his hand. He was quiet and unsmiling. “We will see how long that will last. Your key, Miss Granger.”
Hermione looked at him blankly, then understanding dawned, along with a quiet, “Oh! Of course.” She placed the tiny key in his hand. It looked positively miniscule in his large palm, and when he closed his hand over it, she felt a burst of magic emanate from him in a long, rolling wave that almost made her knees buckle.
To Hermione, feeling Severus’ magic ripple over her body was liminal, subtle and elegant. It was like the minute trace of a Northern accent that gave a smoky tone to his mesmeric voice. It was the scent of him, fresh from bathing, warm and spicy. It was part of him, and now, concentrated as it was on her, it had the visceral impact of a lust potion, making her vision double and her thighs dampen. He smirked knowingly, and Hermione felt a rather fraught yearning, exhausted as she was from a mere three days of this dark, insidious initiation into submission.
Severus lifted her chin with a long, slender finger. In his darkest, most seductive tone, he purred, “Now, my slave, are you ready to wear my chains?”
Hermione glanced into the room at the large chains hanging innocuously on the walls. She shivered, and her voice shook as she answered, “Yes, sir.”
Severus chuckled, and when he opened his hand, the key was gone, and in its place were two bracelets, made of impossibly tiny, perfect chains.
“These are very old, goblin-wrought bracelets. They were once used by Masters to identify slaves.” His dark eyes bore into hers. “I place them on your wrists as a reminder of my ownership of your heart, and of your submission. Once they go around your wrists, only I may remove them again. Only you and I will know their true meaning.” His eyes glowed like black opals; she thrilled to see such fire in them. “Do you accept my chains, Hermione?”
Hermione nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
He looked down his large nose at her. “Then accept them as a slave accepts them. By paying honour to your Master.” She looked at him blankly, and he sneered and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “On your knees, little girl. Head down, arms up, palms facing upward.” He pushed gently. “Down.”
She felt lightheaded, almost outside herself, as she knelt before her husband on the cold floor of the cave. It was surreal; as if they were performing an ancient ritual, whose magic was long lost to all but themselves. Severus looked down on her, his face stern, his breathing slow and measured. He looked at once like the younger man she’d known as a student, and the eternal dark, pagan Lord of the Underworld; Persephone’s mate and Master, offering his dark pleasure at a price.
Hermione bowed her head submissively. She could only really see the bottom of his robes and the soft leather of his boots as he finally approached her.
“I am pleased. Look at me.” Hermione obeyed, and watched as Severus placed a bracelet on each wrist. They weighed absolutely nothing; it was as if they weren’t there at all.
“So delicate,” Hermione whispered, knowing that goblin-made jewelry was stronger than any other in the world. As fragile and insubstantial as they seemed, she knew they would never break. Severus’ large warm hands closed easily over her wrists, and with his whispered incantation, Hermione felt the chains mold to her wrists. When he released her hands, Hermione looked at her ‘chains.’ The bracelets gleamed softly, as thin as cobwebs, as dainty as gossamer, encircling her possessively.
She looked up at him, smiling her gratitude, and he pulled her to her feet. For a moment, they both stood, simply looking down at the silver bracelets; Severus, with arrogant pride and ownership, Hermione, as if only now realizing the full implications of their significance.
As she stood, waiting, Severus placed his hands on her shoulders and quickly spun her around to face the room. “It is time for your first lesson, pet. It is about obedience and trust.” He leaned toward her, whispering in her ear. “You must trust me, Miss Granger. I know what you want. I know what you need.”
“I trust you, sir,” she said, and clenched her fists to calm her trembling. He noticed, of course, and awarded her with a complacent smile.
“Good girl.” He rewarded her with a careless smack on her bottom, and propelled her forward with a gentle pushing motion. “Lie down on the table, face up, with your head at the far end. Go now.” He was in full Master mode, and Hermione moved rather unsteadily over to the table, fully aware of his eyes burning a trail down her back.
The surface was wide and covered with padded leather. Metal studs held the padding in place. After a moment’s hesitation, she climbed onto the table and lay down, feet together, hands crossed over her stomach, trying fruitlessly to calm her pounding heart.
The lamps lowered slightly, and Severus appeared in her peripheral vision. He gazed down on her, his dark eyes sweeping over her naked body. In all their years together, Hermione had never felt so exposedbefore him as she did now. She shivered, and was not surprised that her legs were trembling. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax. Her flesh was peppered with goosebumps, and she thought she must look hideously unattractive, lying here so stiffly.
She closed her eyes, and jumped slightly as his hands closed over hers and stretched her arms over her head, making her feel even more vulnerable to his gaze. Even with her eyes closed, she could practically feel the heat from his intense concentration of her body. In that moment, as she glanced up at her husband’s detached, unreadable expression, Hermione would have given anything to know what he was thinking.
As if sensing her thoughts, Severus’ expression changed; his eyelids took on a heavy look. His parted lips spoke of an underlying arousal as he caressed her face gently, then allowed his hand to glide sensuously down her throat, her collarbone. His feather-light fingertips blazed a trail of fire over her skin. She was actually surprised not to see any mark left in their wake, like a vapour trail across the sky.
His slender fingers traced the old scar she had received from Dolohov’s curse during her fifth year at Hogwarts, following it as it twisted across her chest. A well-trimmed nail scratched across the top of one painfully taut nipple, and she hissed and exhaled a shuddering breath. She forced herself to watch him as he caressed and rolled her nipples between his fingers with clinical detachment.
A gentle tug here, a tweak there, and Hermione felt lightheaded with arousal. He leaned down, and, without allowing any other part of his body to come in contact with her, he closed his warm, wet mouth over a nipple, and she mewled helplessly. Her hands fluttered up to touch him, but he moved away from her before she could caress him.
“No.” He looked down on her with a small, disapproving frown. “You have not earned the right to touch me. Place your arms back over your head.” He smiled sensuously. “That position does very nice things for your breasts.”
Hermione closed her eyes and slowly returned her arms above her. Unconsciously she arched her back to him. He smiled. “Very nice,” he drawled, and bit his lip as he flicked her nipple. She whimpered at the sudden combination of pleasure and pain. “That’s it. Present them to me, Miss Granger.” Hermione whimpered softly under her breath as he repeated the act with both breasts. She cried out and squirmed restlessly.
“Such impatience, Miss Granger. One would think you wanted to be disciplined,” he purred, sounding every inch the menacing, dark Death Eater of old. His dark chuckle made her shiver. “If it’s discipline you crave, then discipline you shall receive.” His voice took on a more steely edge. “Knees up. Part your thighs.”
Hermione obeyed him instantly, trembling as the cool air came in contact with the moist heat of her sex. She was shivering, and looked at him beseechingly, but he met her eyes with the same flat, haughty stare she had often received from him in Potions class. The heat of his gaze alone seemed to increase the temperature of the room.
For almost a solid minute, Hermione lay quietly, feeling alternately nervous and aroused, and Severus merely watched her. He did not touch her, or speak, only watched. As she grew accustomed to the awkward position, her thighs relaxed more. This must have been what Severus was waiting for, and he began to circle the table like a bird of prey. “I would ask if you were aroused, but I don’t have to. I can smell you.” He gave her a wolfish grin.
Hermione felt almost out of her body. In the long years she had known Severus Snape, he had never said things like this to her before. Tears threatened. He leaned over her, his raven hair curtaining his face, and whispered another spell. Magical ropes slid around her wrists and held them fast. She felt a moment’s panic as the coiling restraints pinned her to the table, and she pulled against them. Severus watched her intently, his soft voice ominous and precise. “I would advise you not to struggle, Miss Granger. I would not be pleased if you hurt yourself.”
She forced herself to remain still as the magical bonds wrapped themselves around her thighs and calves. They pulled her legs apart until her knees almost rested on the table. She was pinned open like a specimen in a lab.
And through it all, Severus circled, unsmiling, his eyes fierce and unreadable, his demeanor intractable. His robes seemed to move of their own accord, graceful as a dancer. In spite of her trepidation, Hermione marveled at him; he was, in his own austere aesthetic way, so beautiful it awed her.
He reached the end of the table and looked at her. From her perspective, he looked … displeased. His eyes met hers, and he crossed his arms. Another hissed spell and her entire body shifted down to the end of the table, until her bottom was perched on the edge. Hermione gasped, as he looked down at her, open and waiting.
Severus drew his wand from his sleeve, and pointed it at the soft nest of curls on her mound. Hermione felt a tingling sensation, followed by a shock of cool air. The hair on her pubis was gone. He stepped back, as if to admire his handiwork. “While I do not prefer you shaved, for our purposes tonight, your cunt will be bare.” He sounded at once decadent and detached, and this ramped her excitement up to a painful peak.
Severus reached forward and caressed the newly bared flesh with the back of his hand. Hermione whimpered shamelessly; she had never felt so exposed, yet so aroused. She could only imagine what she looked like, her labia wantonly wet and invitingly open.
His voice echoed through the chamber. “I find I am … disappointed at your lack of trust.” He looked solemnly at her, and moved around to the side of the table, and he sighed. And waited. Hermione watched him, breathless.
He was as still as the rocks surrounding them. In spite of the chilling air, Hermione felt sweat bead at her temples. Severus remained unmoved. Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he could have been a statue.
The blow came from nowhere, so lightning fast Hermione screamed before she registered it. It was a hard, flat smack, with the full force of his hand. It landed in the cleft of her labia and the epicenter was her swollen, distended clitoris.
Hermione gasped as the stinging sensation made her pant; another blow, in the same place, and the wet, smacking sound of his hand against her drenched sex both shamed and thrilled her. Another two slaps fell in rapid succession.
It was pain and it was not pain. It stung her labia and jolted her clitoris with deep, electrical vibrations, causing her folds to swell and engorge with blood until her entire quim was aflame with sensation, causing her heart to pound and her thighs to tremble with each blow.
He struck her without emotion, merely watching her face as his large hand smacked her over and over, until she whimpered and tears slipped from her closed eyes. She lost count of the blows, until she was arching up from the table to meet them. Her labia felt thick and she could feel each burning heartbeat in the bare, exposed flesh.
“Look at me.” Hermione looked up into the eyes of her husband, and whispered his name.
It was still Severus, but augmented to the point that Hermione shook her head to clear her vision. He looked down her with eyes that were on fire. There was a faint glow to his pale skin, and he was breathing hard, as if his exertions had winded him. He sneered at her with a look of pure, raw, sexual power that made Hermione mewl at him. He laughed, and it was not her husband’s laugh.
“What a lovely sight,” he purred, and he leaned forward toward her, and pulled back sharply, as if warring with himself. Hermione shook. “Your little wet cunt is so plump and red.”
It occurred to her that her husband could make any word sound like a benediction and an obscenity at once. The word cunt, spoken in his clipped, smoked voice sounded like a Dark incantation.
He stopped spanking her, and played with the swollen lips of her pussy, pursing them together and peeling them apart with detached, primitive fascination that bordered on profane. An innocent, curious smile teased at the corners of his mouth.
He tilted his head, and ran a slender finger down the seam of her labia, smiling as Hermione thrashed helplessly on the table. “Would you like more?” he crooned, sounding like Lucifer himself.
Hermione writhed on the table. “Please,” she mewled weakly. “I want more. Please give me more …”
His smirk was epic, as was the silken eyebrow that accompanied it. He sobered, and his face changed, grew more intent, less like the husband she knew. He bit his lower lip, and made a low, snarling sound that made Hermione’s toes curl.
“As you wish, pet,” he drawled, and stepped back to spank her again. Four more hard slaps and she was thrusting her hips up to meet them, riding against his relentless hand as if it were his cock. His hand grew wetter with each smack, and the tremours within her seem to build until they caused a chain reaction that hurtled her toward a conclusion that was as welcome as it was inevitable. Her core began to melt and draw inward, like the taut string of a bow.
“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come,” she slurred, closing her eyes, her pelvis twisting to meet the punishing smack of his hand. Even as she rose to meet the next blow, his mouth dove to her drenched and burning cunt, searing her like a brand, and he moaned loudly against her primed core.
She climaxed almost immediately, her scream echoing throughout the cave. Her orgasm lifted her impossibly high into the air, impaling her on his sharp, crooked teeth, his long, silver tongue. He sucked her bursting clit into his mouth as he thrust two, then three fingers inside her pulsing channel, curling them upwards. She cried his name into the darkness, and the answering call of her voice in the echoes made his name sound like music.
He watched her carefully as he gently teased her rectum, giving her no time to recover, and her eyes flew open as he pressed inward. “Bear down,” he barked, watching her face, holding her trembling body down with one arm. “Let me in, oh, that’s my baby,” he purred obscenely, smiling lasciviously as she opened to him like a flower.
She cried out, a helpless, strained sound of expectation. A second finger joined the first in her waiting passage. His fingers started a slow, sensuous dance within her, and her hips moved with him, until she was bucking against him wildly. He had only to lave his pointed tongue from her perineum to her clit for her to cry out, and when he sucked the little nub into his mouth and suckled it like a nipple, flicking his tongue hard against it, she flew apart beneath him for the second time.
She could not recall when pleasure turned itself inside out and became pain, nor the moment the agony tipped sweetly back into ecstasy. At times it felt like punishment that morphed into reward. She only recognised his ravaging mouth, and her body obeyed its Master implicitly.
Again and again he dragged her to the edge of an impossibly high precipice, taking a running start with her before flinging her from the edge, letting her fall screaming, wailing his name, cursing him, terrified, gasping helplessly as the ground rushed up to meet her, then diving and catching her seconds before she crashed, only to start again.
At times, he would simply stand up and walk away, his eyes never leaving her shuddering, trembling form as he promised other, dirtier things he planned to do. At times he would lean over her breasts and tease her nipples with the softest, gentlest flicks of his tongue, turning every teasing suck and biting kiss into a sonata of sensory overload, even as he spanked her again. His moans, his growls, his frightening promises vibrated against her pussy until she strained against her bonds, questing for him and his domination over her senses.
He kissed her with breathtaking, suffocating kisses, coaxing, demanding her supplication, overwhelming her with sensations that left her pleading for release, pleading for respite.
And then he would begin again, slowly, his fingers deep within her, his opposite hand teasing her puckered hole, and his tongue as gentle and sweet as a sprite licking the dew from the wings of a butterfly.
He pushed her harder with each passing second. His hands, his mouth, his voice, forced her to rethink the words bliss and torment, until they melded into one last over-powering, beautiful, horrible conscious thought that this man was turning her into an addict, with him as her drug, her needle and her withdrawals, all at once.
She was soaring higher and higher, suspended in air until she could no longer breathe, and then he growled, “Come for me, now!” and the force of it rushed down upon her with an intensity of sensation that drove rational thought from her. Each bursting, throbbing pulse felt like its own orgasm, steeling the breath from her body until she was deaf, dumb and blind to anything but the release.
She howled brokenly; giving tongue to this overwhelming ecstasy was her only hope of remaining sane, of surviving this onslaught of pleasure and pain and submission and madness. She cried out his name, his title. He became in that moment lover, master, jailer, daddy, judge and executioner, and she called him by all those names. All coherency was destroyed, save one thought: the fearful realization she would seek this out the rest of her days, on her knees if need be, until he forced her to shatter the crystals with her screams …
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked around dazedly, completely unsure of where she was. She was no longer bound on the table; rather she was lying beside Severus in the huge ebony bed, curled up against him. He enfolded her in his arms, murmuring soothing non-words to both calm and stir her senses.
The soft fabric of his robe whispered against her bare skin, causing a delicious friction. The somehow forbidden, sensual image of a young, untested woman lying naked in the arms of a fully clothed, experienced older man was not lost on her, and it made Hermione feel curiously decadent and blameless all at once.
“How do you feel, pet?” he asked, his voice low and neutral. Hermione looked at him, her heart filled with helpless yearning. He was watching her carefully; his face a mixture of several emotions Hermione could not quite define. Instead, she took a mental inventory of herself, and her own feelings.
“Weak. Sore.” She looked back at him and pressed closer. “Needy.”
He smiled. “In that order?” he drawled sleepily. He lay back, and pulled her closer until her head was resting on his shoulder. She ran her hand over his chest and placed a fevered kiss on his jaw line.
“I’m not sure. What exactly happened to me?”
Severus chuckled. “I believe the term is ‘la petite mort’ – the little death.” When she did not reply, Severus actually looked smug. “In other words, my dear wife, I made you come your brains out.”
Hermione looked at him for a moment, shocked at his crudity, then laughed. She flopped back against his arm. “You did, didn’t you?” She sighed. “There’ll be no living with you now.” They both laughed, then she sobered. “Of course, there’s no living without you, either.”
Almost instantly his eyelids lowered, and his face softened. He looked beautiful like this; relaxed, aroused, unfettered by the daily pressures of his position, completely in control of the situation at hand.
“Did my – my little death please you?”
Severus smiled. It was a smile full of promise. “Very much so, pet.” He stroked her face, purring, “You tasted divine. It was like splitting open a ripe peach and devouring it.” His eyes were glowing. “I must remember to spank you thoroughly and often.”
Hermione stretched luxuriously. She felt wonderful; drained and sore, to be sure, but excellent. She had met Severus on a new ground, in terms she had asked for, and she had passed the test.
He uncorked a vial of Pain Potion and held it to her lips. “Open for me.” She looked up at him and saw a glimpse of the dark man who bore so little resemblance to her husband, and Hermione found she it was a bit afraid of him; of what he would do if she allowed it.
Obediently, she opened her mouth, and he poured the potion in, gently drawing a finger against her lips to catch some of the escaping liquid. “There we are,” he breathed, as she swallowed. Warmth flooded her limbs, and instantly her soreness abated. She relaxed against him with a little hum of contentment.
“Better?” he murmured. He watched her closely and his intense concentration on her made Hermione smile complacently.
“Yes, Master. Very much so,” she said, rather mischievously. He regarded her silently for a moment, then returned the vial to the bedside table. Hermione snuggled against him with a contented sigh. “This has to be the most comfy bed,” she said, stifling a yawn. “Almost as comfortable as our bed at Hogwarts.”
Without warning, she was wrenched onto her back against the mattress. The carved vines and tendrils covering the bedposts and headboard came to life and sinuously wound around her wrists and ankles, pinning her down. She gasped in sudden fright as the vines tightened.
Severus was smiling down on her, his eyes glittering hard and merciless in the candlelight. “If I were you, little girl,” he growled, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable.”
Love is the only game that is not called on account of darkness.
Thomas Carlyle
Hermione stopped struggling against the viney bonds that held her fast in place. Severus rose from the bed with a fluid, graceful movement, and leaned against one of the tall footposts. He tilted his head as if surveying his work. With a quick flick of his wand, the vines pulled her feet further apart.
“That’s better,” he drawled, grinning rapaciously down at her. Hermione closed her eyes and felt the warmth of anticipation creeping across her skin, like a feather being drawn over her sensitive flesh.
To Hermione’s surprise, Severus leaned over and rubbed a gentle, callused finger over her taut nipple, making her gasp. “Sweet little tips,” he murmured, teasing the nipple until it was as stiff as a little cock. He smirked down at her, and pulled and milked it with care and control, until the combined sensations of pain and pleasure caused Hermione to whimper and arch her back toward his hand.
He lowered his mouth onto her aching, taut flesh, wrenching a cry of pleasure from her. His mouth was honey-sweet and she could feel his warm tongue flicking at the tip. As he suckled her, his teeth nipped within, sending stinging little pulses racing along a shining wire of pleasure that extended from her nipples to her groin. He was tender and skilled, and soon she was moaning and twisting, silently begging him to favour the opposite breast, until he pulled away from her with a little sucking motion that made her hiss and thrash in disappointment.
He looked down on her with liquid black eyes that promised things for which Hermione didn’t have a name. One finger teased against her bottom lip before he slipped it into her eager mouth. He watched her carefully as she suckled on it, desperate to maintain contact with him, desperate to show her submission to his will. Hermione kept her eyes locked to his, begging him silently.
“And what do you want, Miss Granger?” he asked softly as he removed his finger and encircled her nipple with the moistened tip, leaving it to cool and pucker painfully in the cold air.
A soft sound escaped her throat before she could reply. “I want to please you,” she said, hoping it was the right answer. She felt an almost painful ache in her chest; it was more than just wanting him to make love to her. She wanted to hear his praise for her, uttered in that dark, sinful baritone voice she knew so well. The thought both aroused and troubled her. Looking into his eyes, she could tell he knew what she was thinking, and she wondered how she could be so transparent without him Legilimising into her mind.
“All I want is to give you pleasure,” she repeated, and closed her eyes, ashamed of how needy she was for his praise.
“Good girl. And so you shall,” he crooned, his voice so full of dark seduction Hermione felt her pussy grow hot. She felt a feral type of joy. In that moment, she understood why submissives gave themselves so freely to their Masters.
He had plundered her with his mouth, he had made her orgasm until she lost consciousness, and still she craved him. She was entranced by him. He was so beautiful. It was as if she was looking at a god whose very sight could scorch and defile her, yet she was loath to tear her eyes away. Every fiber of his being seemed concentrated on her, and it excited her to be the object of the fierce, demanding attention of this particular wizard.
She was actually panting, her body aching with need for him. She had imbibed lust potions before, but the sensations they produced were nothing compared to this. This was pure want; pure need. She’d never felt this gnawing, temple-aching desire before. She tried to stifle a sob as tears sprang to her eyes.
“Why are you crying?” he asked diffidently, as if he knew the answer but wanted her to confess. He watched her struggle, smiling down at her. His arrogance undid her, and she wailed.
“It hurts!”
“The bonds?”
“No! No,” she whispered weakly, turning her face away. “It hurts to want you so much. What have you done to me?”
To her surprise, he laughed, and climbed onto the bed. “Merely all you asked of me, pet. You wanted to submit to me. Now you understand the power you have given me; the power to enslave you to pleasure.” Severus stroked her body proprietorially, starting at her shoulders, moving down to the very soles of her feet.
This was not the calming, soothing stroke of a man gentling his witch; it was the calculated, rough touch of a man who knows how to send his woman over the edge easily, on command. It was the sure, tormenting hand of a wizard who plans to wreak havoc with his wife’s body and soul, and Hermione jerked like a fish on a line beneath his knowing, skilled ministrations. She arched her back to meet his touch, and his fingers danced away from her capriciously.
“I can make that sweet ache worse, or I can make it better, pet.” He looked down on her imperiously. “Either way, you’ll thank me.
“But first, a little compensation, I think, for my exertions on your part.” He looked down at her, his expression unreadable, and she shivered at the silken danger in his words.
Without preamble, he straddled her until he was kneeling over her chest. She gazed up at him hungrily as he eased his cock from the confines of his robes. He stroked it slowly, as if savouring the feel of it in his large hand, and Hermione thought she might come just from watching him touch himself. Gods, he was a dirty devil, enticing her with his cock, like the serpent tempted Eve with the apple.
He was hard, his cock so blood-engorged Hermione could feel the heat of it as it jutted toward her mouth. She watched in fascination as a drop of pearly seed oozed from the tip, and her mouth watered as her lips parted to take him. She looked up into his face, and saw the desire smoldering in his eyes.
His voice was as velvety and hard as his cock. “I told you I wanted to fuck this luscious little mouth.” His breathing quickened with barely-controlled arousal. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, tickling it gently. He leaned forward. “Refusal is no longer an option. Satisfying me is.” He purred. “This would be an opportune moment to demonstrate your appreciation, Miss Granger.”
The delicious scent of his sex permeated into the visceral centre of her brain as she strained upward for him. He stroked himself slowly, as if enticing her. He whispered, “Kiss the tip.” He was breathing hard, as if she was exciting him against his will. Hermione closed her eyes and placed a soft, reverent kiss on the head of his sex. She licked the pre-cum from the tip, moaning rapturously that she was finally able to touch him, to taste him, and he sighed harshly as he pressed his straining member between her lips.
“Oh, yes. Lick it. Suck it for me,” he said, his voice sinful and coaxing, as if enticing an innocent. There was barely concealed ferocity in his tone. “Show me how a slave worships her Master.” He looked down on her with an expression that would have made a devil blush – all sloe-eyed power and sneer.
“Open up.”
He took her head between his warm hands and eased his cock into her mouth, and Hermione whimpered as he filled her utterly. His sharp groan of pleasure made her impossibly wet, as if the sound itself had painted the slit of her own sex.
His movements were controlled and slow as he churned his hips, sighing with each disciplined thrust. Hermione tried to keep her eyes open; it was beyond erotic to watch his hips rotating his cock in and out of her mouth, and she sucked hard, even as her tongue swirled over the head of his rigid member. As he moved, he held her face in his hands, and his head fell back in abandon as he fucked her mouth.
Hermione felt her passion straining with each graceful plunge, and she grew greedy, trying to take him fully into her mouth. She moaned harshly; all her thoughts simmered down to one base instinct – she wanted to give him the pleasure he had given her earlier. She no longer cared about her own wants and needs; it was about Severus, her Daddy, her Master… she looked up at the man crouched over her, and tried to convey this with her eyes. He snarled softly, looking down at her with an expression of drugged power. He looked as if drinking in the sight of her like this freed the lust he had always kept hidden, simmering beneath the surface, and was now given free rein.
Without warning, he pulled away from her mouth, panting, clutching the sides of her face with his large hands. Breathless and narrow-eyed, he rasped, “You’re very good, pet, but so very greedy. I’m not ready to come yet. We must work on patience where your desires are concerned.”
Gasping, licking her lips, Hermione gasped with a sobbing little breath. “I’m sorry,” she moaned, closing her eyes.
He rose gracefully from the bed, and tucked himself away in his midnight robe. For a moment, he simply watched her, as he’d done before. He seemed to be weighing a decision. Hermione waited, bound and aching for him, but something told her the pleasure might be superseded by something else for the moment.
As with everything Severus did, he used the silence skillfully to heighten the tension, until Hermione felt like a rubber band pulled and stretched to the breaking point. Just as she was about to give in and snap, the vines loosened and fell away, and he intoned, “Rise, Miss Granger.”
At first, Hermione thought she would not be physically able to obey him. Her arms and legs felt like leaden weights. He watched her carefully, patiently; he merely stood quietly, waiting for her to stand. Eventually, Hermione had to roll onto her side and drag herself from the bed. She finally managed to get to her feet, and stood beside him, waiting for him to command her.
He gestured with a quick nod of his head. “Stand by the bedpost. It will guide you.”
Mystified by this cryptic order, Hermione turned and moved back until she was standing by the tall post at the right foot of the bed. As she stood facing him, the vines and tendrils once again wrapped around her hands; this time, they pulled them high, over her head, until once more she was captive of both the bed and her husband. The vines pulled her until her hip rested against the post, and she stood sideways against the bedpost, her arms suspended above her. When she looked up, the vines ascended out of sight; up into the black ceiling of the cave.
“I will not force you to stay in this position long, but I believe being bound is necessary for our first lesson together. It is easy to surrender when you have no choice.” He sounded as matter-of-fact as he had in the classroom, and in spite of her less than comfortable position, Hermione felt a sense of reassurance from the familiar timbre of his voice.
“And so, we return to the subjects of trust and obedience, Miss Granger,” he murmured, as he stood by her side. She could feel the soft fabric of his robe brush against her hip, and his warm palm slid down her belly to the apex of her thighs and cupped her pussy expertly. Hermione knew he could feel her, wet and aching, and she mewled helplessly as he teased her labia open and gently fondled her.
“It has occurred to me you have been a very naughty little witch over the years, haven’t you?” he crooned, his finger teasing her clit. Hermione whimpered as he moved away, and she closed her eyes, waiting for his next move.
“Look at me,” he ordered. Hermione obeyed him immediately. A leather flogger dangled carelessly in his fingers. It was a simple whip, made like a cat-o-nine tails, of perhaps a dozen buttery leather strips attached to a long handle studded with large-headed smooth, silver hobnails. In spite of its soft appearance, it looked lethal in Severus’ strong hands.
“Do I frighten you, Miss Granger?”
When Hermione swallowed heavily, he chuckled darkly. ““Would you like me to?”
How could she answer? He seemed to understand, and he laughed again, a sound that was so full of sin Hermione quivered like a bowstring.
Severus smiled grimly. “Oh, yes, Miss Granger. Tonight, you atone for your sins, even while committing a few new ones.”
He pressed against her and grasped her head, and as Hermione looked up into the face of her professor, her husband, her master, she was both ashamed and thrilled at how hot and aroused she felt, looking into his unsmiling, cruel face. “Now, let’s start at the beginning, shall we, pet?” he sneered, as he teased and pinched her nipples. Hermione was soon so inflamed with lust she was struggling feverishly against the bonds that held her arms above her head.
Finally, his fingers returned to their wicked task, working her folds so pitilessly Hermione was forced to rise onto her tiptoes. She relaxed and tensed at the same time, as his fingers danced over her swollen and sensitive clit.
As he tormented her, he hissed, “Miss Granger, you set fire to my robes when you were a First-year student, did you not?”
Confused, Hermione replied, “Y-yes, sir.” She moaned as he toyed with her straining clit. The flogger came down on her backside, fast. It was a subtle, stinging sort of pain, but coupled with the slow, teasing pleasure of his fingers in her cunt, it sent a message to her brain that nearly made her orgasm. Another stinging slap of the flogger made her jerk her hips toward his seeking fingers, but he pulled away.
In a chiding tone, he chastised, “Ah ah, Miss Granger. You are mine now, to play with. And I will play with you as I please.” Hermione shivered as his fingers grew more insistent. The flogger came down again, first on one arse cheek, then another, stinging, caressing. Hermione’s bottom felt as if it were glowing. “I believe you also stole from my potions stores your second year – making Polyjuice potion, wasn’t it?”
Hermione was panting now, pinned between the punishing flogger and his gentle fingertips fluttering delicately over her clit. She was barely cognizant of his words. His seductive tone, the deep, sinful silk of his baritone voice; it was her only link to her rapidly disintegrating reason.
“And the subsequent years, pet? When you knocked me unconscious in the Shrieking Shack?” Hermione felt the jolt of memory merge with the expectation of what was to come, and she gasped in anticipation. The flogger sang in the air, and Hermione cried out as it blistered her already sensitive bottom. She was trembling now, her hips surging against the pain and the pleasure, when she heard her own voice cry, “Harder!” Hermione looked up at him, stunned at herself, then felt the tears come. “More,” she said, almost against her will. She dropped her head, shuddering. “Please, professor, I want more.”
Severus brushed a tear from her eye, and raised the handle of the flail to her face. “If it’s more you want, Miss Granger, show me.” His smirk was the stuff of legend, bristling with power. “Kiss the rod that punishes you, and I will give you more.” His eyes were huge and so dark they looked demonic.
Hermione looked at her husband, and felt her moisture trickling down her thighs. She was nourished only by this deeply rooted, all encompassing want. She feverishly kissed the handle of the flogger, and when he moved his hand, she rained kisses upon it as well. He had reduced her to this creature of sensation, and she knew she would do and say anything to show him how much she wanted this.
“Excellent, pet,” he purred, then kissed her forehead. “Let’s give you a little respite, yes?” he whispered lasciviously.
His fingers intensified their light, fluttering teasing, and Severus brought her effortlessly to the peak of an orgasm. Hermione felt something pressing against the back of her thighs, and a smooth rod slid into her primed and eager pussy. She began to keen as he masturbated her with the handle of the flogger. Her wanton cries both humiliated and grounded her as he coaxed, “Come for me … ah yes, that’s a good girl…”
Hermione felt the gathering of her body, caught in the vicious undertow of sensation and need and she screamed into the air as the first wave of her orgasm broke over her like a torrent, buckling her knees and sending a gush of wet and warmth over the handle. She cried out with each pulse of her traitorous body as Severus relentlessly pumped the studded phallus in and out of her slick and quivering pussy.
She sagged against her bonds, and whimpered as he held her to his side and petted and stroked her. He laughed as she mewled and shook against him. “Poor baby … Calm yourself, Miss Granger,” he admonished in a teasing tone, and she moaned as his fingers returned to their teasing. She keened softly, her body twitching, overly stimulated and spent.
“Wicked little girl,” he sneered, “You have soaked the handle of your flogger. What sort of shameless little witch comes on the instrument of her punishment?”
Hermione took great, sobbing breaths, straining at the bonds. “Do your shoulders hurt?” he asked mildly.
She nodded. “Yes, sir.” Suddenly, she was afraid. “But I want to take my discipline properly!” she blurted, afraid he would be disappointed. “Please let me!”
Severus smiled down at her, and it was a carnal, smile of power. “So the little Gryffindor is afraid she won’t be found worthy, eh?” His smile changed, became predatory. “Not to fear, little lioness. I have no intention of letting you go now.” With a whispered incantation, the vines dropped, so that her shoulders were no longer straining upward.
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, holding onto the vines as if she were their bonds and they her captive.
“Good girl,” he purred, and stepped back, his arm raised to strike her again. Five times the strips of the lash descended on her burning backside, and she hissed and thrashed. It felt wondrous.
“More, pet?” he asked, placing a biting kiss on her shoulder. His fingers found and tortured her nipples, and she nodded wordlessly, afraid she would scream if she tried to speak. “We still have more punishment to mete out, my dear. Do you know why?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, her body tense and ready for the next blow.
“And why is that, Miss Granger?”
“Because of all the times I angered you,” she rasped, tears sparkling on her lashes.
“Incorrect.”
Surprised, Hermione opened her eyes and looked at her husband. “What?” she managed, with a sniff, and then he stepped toward her again.
The whip sang in the air. “Do you know how long I have desired you, witch?” Severus began, his voice smoky and rich, like chocolate. “Do you know the first time I looked on you and wanted you, and hated myself for it?” Hermione, helpless, rode out the storm of his heavy, burnt-sugar voice, the sting of the flail and his insistent fingers. His mouth was at her ear now, his breath hot and moist against her skin. His sweet whisper sounded fraught with longing. “You were fifteen, and dressed like an angel for that oaf, Viktor Krum. I saw you at the Yule Ball, and my heart split open, and I wanted you so badly I could not form a fist in which to stroke my own cock.”
Hermione was stunned. He had never told her this before. She looked up at Severus, and was almost fearful of the lust and the fire she saw in his eyes. He was looking at her with a mixture of shame and arousal that excited her unbearably. To know she was the cause of this was like an addictive drug.
She smiled at him. “Even then? You never said – “
He crashed his mouth against hers, forcing his warm, slippery tongue into her mouth, draining her of her will. He pulled away and then began to bite at her bottom lip, sucking it in a frenzy, moaning loudly as he devoured her. His breathless, suffocating kisses frightened her, but she leaned into him even as she gasped for air. Their tongues battled, and his mouth echoed his fingers and the whip to form a mosaic of pleasure that drove the last coherent thought from her mind.
He released her mouth with a soft suckling kiss that made her whimper. He smiled coldly. A whispered spell later, and the vines unwrapped themselves from her wrists. Severus stepped back and pointed to the bed. “Do you want proof, witch? Get on your hands and knees,” he growled.
Hermione quickly climbed onto the mattress. She put her head on her arms and lay with her bottom in the air, eager, waiting for him, and she growled and pushed back at him as she felt the head of his cock sliding between her slick, dripping folds. She was shamelessly, almost angrily aroused. “Show me,” she pleaded, lightheaded and sick with want. “Show me what you would have done to me that night.”
He hovered over her, his possessive hands grasping her hips. He burned a trail on her back with his kisses. “Such a beautiful girl, and I had no right to you! I wasn’t worthy of you, and I had to watch those fools hurt and humiliate you!” He teased her with the head of his cock, sliding it into her entrance, promising her more with the pressure of his hands on her hips.
“I had to sit back and do nothing, say nothing when Potter nearly got you killed at the Department of Mysteries. I snuck into the infirmary while you were recovering and watched you, praying to gods I no longer believed in that you would be well.” Again, he pushed the tip into her hungry sex, and she tried to push back on him, but he eluded her maddeningly, taunting her like an incubus with his hot, rigid cock, his hard, grasping hands.
Hermione, panting against him, cried, “Severus – “
“Having to turn my heart away each time I saw you at Grimmauld, with Sirius Black sniffing around you-” He played with her, rubbing his cock over her distended clit, sliding halfway inside her, only to withdraw, leaving her writhing for him. “Oh, they wanted you as well, witch, never doubt it! That mutt and his werewolf taunted me about you every chance they got, when they weren’t slobbering over each other!”
Hermione’s arousal soared out of control as she heard the swift, frantic urgency in his voice. She tried to turn in his arms, but he wouldn’t allow it. “Severus, please – “
“This is what I would have done!” He slammed into her, balls deep, a hard, driving thrust that made Hermione howl. His cock was diamond hard and so hot it burned, and it felt as inexorable and glorious as his desperate voice and as he pulled back, she thought she might die from the anticipation of the next hard, selfish thrust.
When he ploughed into her again, she wailed her thanks into the room.
He began to fuck her, hard, pitilessly, emphasizing his words with each driving plunge. “Do you know how frightened I was, when you were on the run? Do you know afraid I was that you would be killed? Do you know how much I wanted to capture you – hide you away in Hogwarts so I could have you all to myself, so I could tie you to my bed and fuck you every night?” He roared his pleasure as he slammed into her.
His passion-fueled confession shocked and thrilled Hermione. His driving, merciless hips rammed into her, bruising, tearing her apart until she could feel the hot, pulling tide of her impending climax, and she threw back her head and howled, her cunt pulsating and throbbing around him.
Finally he slowed and pulled her from her hands and knees, until she was sitting back against his lap. Sharp, biting kisses stung her neck and shoulders, only to be soothed by his soft tongue. His hands skimmed her ribs and his fingers rolled her nipples sweetly, tenderly. “Oh, Hermione,” he groaned, and the sound of her name in his mouth made her shudder. With a voice silvery and boyish, he crooned, “Little girl, I’ve waited all your life for you to be ready for this.”
With a cry, he pushed her forward onto all fours again, and rocked inside her in long, slow deep strokes, his hips rolling and churning, locking her against him, bottoming out just as he pulled away for the next plunge. Hermione rocked back to meet him in a sensuous dance, her legs spread wide to feel his balls slapping against her clit.
“So good,” she moaned, as their bodies’ rhythm quickened, as desire met need met pleasure. She felt his hand tangle in her hair and tug gently, moaning in bliss as the muscles of her pussy clenched around him, making him shiver.
“I wish you could see yourself, pet,” he growled, sounding every inch the pagan god she had come here to worship. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are, impaled on my cock.” A large hand came down hard on her backside, rewarding her with the pain/pleasure she craved. “How beautiful your rosy little arse looks as I pierce it.”
He pushed her arse cheeks apart and teased the little hole of her rectum, making her cry out and shudder. Hermione swirled her hips, making Severus moan and growl. “Lose yourself,” she sobbed, their bodies crashing together. “Do whatever you want with me. I want to feel you lose control,” she babbled, and pushed harder against him.
“Don’t come yet,” he growled, his controlled demeanor lost in a haze of dark lust-fueled power. “You’ll come when you beg for it, witch.” He sounded demonic and cruel, and Hermione had to fight to keep from climaxing at that moment.
They fucked one another like animals, his hips pounding into her in lightning-fast thrusts that made her shudder and mewl. And still Hermione begged, “More… Master… please… Daddy,” she keened into the room, feeling her orgasm rising again.
She heard Severus moaning again and again as he plunged into her wildly. He growled deeply in his throat, his voice harsh with pleasure. “That’s it. Be a good girl and beg me…” he groaned.
“Please let me come!” she wailed, so close…
He laughed and roared, “Again, little girl! Beg me to let you go!” With those words he roughly yanked her hair. Hard.
Hermione’s nerve endings turned to ice; she jangled to a halt, and her rhythm faltered. Severus didn’t seem to notice. As if overcome with passion and power, he pulled her hair again, even harder, forcing her neck to arch backward. Suddenly Hermione cried out, and terror replaced pleasure…
She heard a thin, childish scream rend the air. Only later did she realise it was herself. She took a deep, ragged breath, like a drowning man coming up for air.
“Bumbershoot!” she screamed, her voice high-pitched in her ears. “Please, stop! Please…” She was barely aware of her own voice as she tried to claw her way out from under him. “Bumbershoot! Bumbershoot! Please!”
She was crying as she felt Severus leap from the bed. Hermione swallowed, and dared to turn and look at him.
He was white with shock; his beautiful face was glistening with sweat, and flushed from their frantic coupling, but beneath his stunned confusion was anger and revulsion and something like fear. He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.
Suddenly, to Hermione’s horror, he reached for her wrists, and with a gentle, jerking motion, he wrenched the bracelets from her wrists. “No, please,” she said, shaking her head. She was torn by remorse and fear flooded her heart as she looked into the stony face of her husband. “Please, don’t, Severus, I didn’t mean to do it, please!”
Weakly, she tried to reach for him but he backed away. Hermione could not identify the expression on his face. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and expressionless, and he would not meet her eyes. “You said the safe word, Hermione,” he said and she could hear the accusatory disappointment. He gave her a formal little shrug. “I was not aware I was harming you,” he added flatly. He shook his head, and turned away from her. With a flick of his wand, she was dressed.
Hermione, sick with fear, slid off the bed and tried to approach him, but he moved away from her again. He picked up a loose crystal from the ground and muttered another spell, and pressed it into her hand, along with her wand. “It would be best if you go now.”
Hermione sobbed, “Don’t send me away, Severus, I’ll be good! Please don’t send me away. You don’t understand – “
The Portkey began to activate and she screamed, “Oh, please don’t, Severus! I’ll be good- Severus!” She felt the sickening, pulling, spinning feeling of the Portkey transporting her away from the cave, and the last thing she saw before landing ungracefully on their bed in Hogwarts was the stark, white face of her husband, turning away from her.
It’s unbelievable how much you don’t know about the game you’ve been playing all your life. Mickey Mantle
As Hermione Portkeyed away from the cave, Severus dropped onto the bed, sickened by what he’d done. The delicate bracelets still dangled in his fingers, and he fought the urge to throw them into the fire. After a moment’s thought, he stood and quietly placed them on the mantle. No. He had destroyed enough tonight.
In that moment, Severus felt blind panic seep into his veins. How could he have been so stupid as to agree to this? He should have known he would fuck things up utterly, and he had. He knew he would eventually have to face Hermione and beg her forgiveness, but he could not right now. He didn’t deserve it.
Coward. You’ve destroyed your marriage with your sick, twisted perversions. Serves you right if she hexes first and asks questions later.
Oh, but it had been glorious. He closed his eyes. Seeing her strapped to the table, screaming his name as he lapped at her delicious body like a starving man … feeling the power as she knelt before him to don his bracelets … seeing that mixture of fear and lust as he sneered, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable.” It was like the most potent drug – powerful, addicting, and free from consequences.
Hermione had been everything he’d ever wanted, even when she was still his student. It had been a dark secret in a lifetime of dark little secrets; one he’d kept hidden even from himself. He had known it would be a mistake to confess the feelings he’d harboured for her, but he couldn’t help himself. Feeling her come undone beneath his fingers, seeing her plump little pussy grow blood red as he spanked her on the table – it had excited him like nothing he’d ever known.
Gods, he’d never felt such crippling, overwhelming lust, even as a callow youth with a libido like a freight train. All propriety and sensibility had been driven from his brain and replaced with dominance, and he had been powerless to prevent the truth from coming out.
And she’d been so deliciously responsive, giving in to him, allowing the submission to carry her along to the places he had mapped out especially for her. All he had to do was keep control of the situation. All he had to do was excite her, and plant the suggestion that he could possibly hurt her. Then he would give her pleasure. The only thing she had to do was allow it, and she had done so with the ecstasy of a martyr, willingly and gratefully – the perfect submissive.
Severus felt gall rising from his gut. He had been so close – so wrapped up in the sex that he had not realized the moment he started hurting her. His vision had been clouded with a dark, erotic mist so overwhelming it had reduced him to an animal, and the thrill of fucking her had saturated him with her scent, her taste, her subjugation, and he was hurtling toward the best orgasm of his life when she screamed her preposterous safe word into the air, and reality dropped on him like a bucket of ice water.
She had been shaking, sobbing, and he came to his senses to see his hand wrapped around her hair, yanking ruthlessly, as he drove into her like the worst sort of rapist. She had been scrambling to get away from him while he held her down.
Severus scrubbed his face with his hands. And the most pitiful thing of all? She had apologized to him. In the short time he had been dominating her he had conditioned her to believe it was her fault. He felt like the worst sort of bastard, and what was worse, he would have to face the music.
He had been the worst sort of hypocrite.
He was no longer the man who simply stalked away exuding a brittle, false superiority, blaming others for his misfortune. Those days were long gone. His new life had brought him the gift of self-esteem honestly earned, honestly deserved, but with that gift came responsibilities. He would have to face his fears and face himself; he would have to acknowledge the dark professor who loved his wife with the same intensity as the man he’d learned to be.
He had to make this right with Hermione, even if she spat in his eye and hexed his balls to Barcelona.
Severus fought rising tears. He couldn’t lose her. He’d loved her too long and too much. He needed to talk to someone; he needed advice on how to fix this, and as unsavoury as the thought was, he knew exactly the person to go to.
“Severus! A bit of a surprise seeing you here! Come in,” Draco smiled, welcoming his godfather into Malfoy Manor. “Mother’s at the flat helping Astoria plan our first dinner party, but Father’s in his study. How’s Hermione?”
Severus arranged his face in pleasant, expressionless lines. “Fine, thank you, Draco. How is Astoria?”
The young blond beamed. “She’s lovely. She and mother have this mad idea about inviting half the country to our little flat, and apparently I’m in the way.”
Draco chatted amicably as he led Severus to the door of his father’s study. “I’m off home, Father, but I’ve left behind a substitute.” He winked at Severus in farewell, and Lucius turned and spotted his old friend.
“Severus!” His smile of surprised welcome was genuine, and he crossed the floor to shake his hand. “Lovely to see you! Come in and keep and old man company in his hour of need. I’ve been abandoned by my family for the evening and left to my own devices.”
Lucius poured dark red wine into two glasses and invited Severus to sit. “Ah, that is lovely,” he said, sampling the wine. He looked over at Severus as if observing no more than the cut of his robe. “Now, Severus, what’s wrong?”
Startled, Severus took a large gulp of wine. “Wrong? Why on earth would you surmise anything wrong?” He frowned. “Can’t I visit an old comrade without there being something wrong?”
Lucius shrugged elegantly. “Well, you could, I suppose, but not at half eleven at night. And you never call me a comrade unless you’re brooding over the old days.” He fixed Severus with a look almost Dumbledore-ish in its scrutiny. Lucius’ gaze softened. “What is troubling you?”
Severus took a deep breath. Without preamble, he told Lucius what had transpired with Hermione. He did it with the cringing knowledge that Lucius would take every opportunity in future to use the information against him, but he accepted it. The stakes were too high. He was afraid for his marriage. He told it quickly, without the details, but enough to convey the seriousness of the situation.
For a long moment, Lucius watched him silently. Save for a slight tic in his left eye, the blond aristocrat was still. Finally, he sighed, rose from his seat and walked over to the liquor cabinet. “I think we need to graduate to something a little more substantial.” He poured brandy into two cut-glass snifters and handed one to his friend, resumed his seat, and leisurely crossed his legs.
“So, let me get this straight,” Lucius drawled, after what seemed to Severus an interminable silence. “Your lovely wife has finally grasped the fact that her husband was a former bad boy with a dominant streak a mile long and she’s expressed a desire to explore this with you. But you were afraid that the darkness, which was so much part of your misspent youth, would eventually take you over to the point where you could not return to the mild-mannered pussycat you are now? Does that just about cover the first part?”
Put that way, Severus had to admit it did sound a bit ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, Severus nodded curtly. “Indeed,” Lucius purred, smirking. He took another sip of brandy. “And furthermore, you decide to indulge your wife’s submission fantasies, she loves it, your sex life becomes the most thrilling joy ride since your first dark revel, and she even calls you ‘Daddy’ in the throes of passion?”
Grimly, Severus nodded again. Lucius tutted, shaking his head.
“Severus, are you further telling me that, in a very fiery moment of said passion, you experienced an outburst from your wife which you didn’t understand and didn’t bother to investigate. You then had a bout of conscience and you sent your lovely wife home, crying, begging you not send her away, and you then proceeded to come here to pour your blackened heart out to your old comrade, and reassure yourself you weren’t in imminent danger of becoming Wizarding Britain’s next Dark Lord?”
Severus could feel colour rising in his face. He felt twelve times a fool, hearing his situation described so baldly. Quietly, he said, “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Lucius. She’s everything to me. I can’t lose her.”
Lucius gazed at him for several seconds. In his most slippery voice, he replied, “Then what in the name of Circe’s seven tits are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home reassuring the woman who means everything to you … that she means everything to you?”
“But what if she’s so traumatized she can’t stand to be around me? Or worse, what if she takes me back, and the next time, I actually do something to harm her?” Severus could hear the desperate fear in his voice and hated himself for it.
Lucius made a dismissive gesture. “You won’t. It isn’t in you to harm those you truly love.”
“Of course it is!” Severus snarled, running a hand through his hair. He knew his argument was flawed, but he couldn’t help himself. His breath exploded from his body in frustration. “You remember the early revels! We were like animals!”
Lucius stifled a belch with such impressive elegance it actually distracted Severus for a moment. “You know, Severus, for a man of your brilliance, ability and intelligence, I do believe you are the most emotionally stunted man I’ve ever known.” Lucius rose from his chair and began to pace. “We were little more than boys in those days, with the world dangled before us like toys before the eager paws of kittens. Depravity is for the young, if they are dark enough to seek it and have the juice to carry it through!”
“I did some pretty depraved things.”
Lucius looked down at his friend. “Yes, you did. And most of the time you enjoyed it, as did the consenting witch you were debauching. You had imagination, I’ll give you that.
“But the rest of the time, you were as thestral-shit with fear as I was. Our biggest tragedy is not the things we did, but why we did them. We were too frightened not to. We had to survive.”
“That is no longer the case. I was enjoying myself with Hermione.” Severus flushed with shame.
Lucius looked mildly exasperated as he refilled Severus’ drink. “Don’t think I’m as vapid as I look.”
Severus bit back, “You couldn’t be.”
Another long suffering sigh escaped the blond man. “Thirty years later, and you are still wounding me with the same insults.” He took another sip. “I saw you at the revels – you know, the ones we were subjected to when he returned.” Lucius did not need to clarify who ‘he’ was. “You had no real stomach for rape any more than I did. Pretending that too many potions had rendered you impotent; an Order meeting which must be attended; a head cold, I believe, was the excuse you gave for the last one. He may have accepted these transparent excuses as truth; who knows? I never really knew what was going on the man’s head. Now, I’ll admit we might have enjoyed a little rum, sodomy and the lash in our youths-”
Severus shot him a sour look. “I was never one for sodomy, Lucius. And I’ll thank you to remember that the ‘rum and the lash’ part are the reason I came here in this predicament.”
“Always so literal, you are.” Lucius rolled his eyes heavenward. He leaned forward, and in his best ‘pay attention, boy’ tone of voice, declared, “My point is that you were never evil. Any real darkness was only ever put on and taken off with your Death Eater robes, my friend.”
He sat back, his eyes bleak with remembrance. “I knew true darkness; I saw it often enough in those last, awful days here. It was in the face of my sister-in-law. It was in the eyes of Tom Riddle.” He turned back to Severus. “It was never in yours. You were a good man, Severus. I’ve had ten years to analyse it, and I know I’m right. You hid it well, but in the end, your light brought me back from the brink more surely than you’ll ever know.”
Severus stared at Lucius, stunned. “I know,” Lucius smiled. “Who would have thought me capable of such depth of understanding? I can scarce believe it myself.” He sat down, and brushed a speck of lint from his immaculate trousers.
“So, on our last games night Miss Gryffindor was deceiving with the truth,” mused Malfoy pensively. He smirked, “I never got Cissa that hot and bothered prancing around in my Death Eater robes, I can assure you. Mind you, they were so heavy I was always the one hot and bothered – “
“Don’t talk about it that way!” Severus spat. He looked at his friend disgustedly. “That’s the whole problem with all of this! Treating those robes, those … symbols of evil, like they’re some sort of kinky costume-”
“And what, pray tell, is wrong with that? That’s all they were, Severus. I don’t know why you kept the moldy old thing, anyway. Cissa put mine to the torch the moment this mess was over.”
Severus, who had finished his brandy while Lucius was speaking, made a gesture toward the brandy snifter. Lucius nodded toward his own glass, and watched as Severus refreshed their drinks.
The dark-haired man took a long pull. “I kept them because I wanted to remember what we fought against. Playing house with them is wrong! It mocks those who died! It defiles the sacrifices people made on both sides in the name of all those robes stood for! It … cheapens it.”
To his surprise, Lucius laughed. Really laughed, like during a heated play on games nights when the drinks were flowing and everyone was having fun. He was holding his sides, and tears spurted from his silver eyes. “Oh Severus! Merlin, if I didn’t know you were serious I would call Hermione and tell her what you just said.” He managed to gain control over himself, ignoring Severus’ glowering form standing over him.
With a last chuffing laugh, Lucius sat back and sighed as he wiped his eyes. Severus was fuming. “It’s not amusing in any way, Lucius.”
“But it is, Severus. That’s the difference between my upbringing and yours. I know the significance, the true significance of those robes. Thank Merlin one of us was brought up to know better.”
Lucius shook his head and gave his friend a look of pity and understanding. “Severus, nothing was more low-rent than being a Death Eater. Those itchy old deathtraps cheapened us, Severus. The significance you place on them is what mocks those who gave their lives in this mad war.”
Severus slowly sat down, shaken. Lucius’ words had struck home. “You see, Severus?” he implored. “Nothing good on this earth came from you wearing those robes, except giving your hot-blooded, Gryffindor wife the thrill of her life. What could be more redemptive that that?”
Severus frowned into his glass. He saw so clearly in his mind’s eye Hermione’s face when she turned around and saw him wearing the robes for the first time. It had not been some kinky game to Hermione. She was on fire for her wizard, the dark side as well as the light. She wanted him, in all of his shades of imperfection, not a Death Eater. And you sent her away, as if she’d been the one in the wrong …
“But returning to more recent events,” said Lucius briskly, “if Hermione desires for you to continue this sexy little role playing with her, why not? She’s a very strong witch capable of hexing your bollocks off if you take things too far, which you won’t- “
Severus made a low growling noise. “That’s the point, Lucius! I did! I made her say our safe word! She was screaming it!”
“What is it?”
Severus stopped pacing. “What is what?”
“Your safe word,” Lucius replied, his eyes as wide and innocent as a young boy’s. “I’m merely curious.”
Impatiently, Severus replied, “Bumbershoot, but – “
“Huh. Odd little word, isn’t it?” Lucius mused. “Then again, it’s not the sort of word one would usually scream during sex, so I suppose it’s as good as any – “
“It doesn’t matter what the fucking safe word is! That’s not the point, Lucius!”
Lucius stood and crossed the floor to stand by his friend. “Yes, it is.” He laughed. “Honestly, Severus. Sometimes I think you actually believe that what you truly deserve is to end up an old, half-breed wizard, in a squalid little bedsit in Purley, huddled around a tin of Voldie’s Revenge for warmth and comfort. Keep believing it and you’ll turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy!”
He reached forward and gave the dark-haired man a shake. “Safe words are there for a reason! You got carried away with your own dark fantasy – she said the safe word – what did you do?” When Severus did not reply, Lucius cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Well, go on – what did you do?”
Severus muttered, “I stopped.”
“You stopped. And you turned tail and ran away.” Lucius tutted again. “Poor form, Severus. Being the big, bad, irredeemable Death Eater you are, why didn’t you just keep going and hurt her some more?” He gave Severus a cuff around his ear.
Severus growled warningly, “Lucius …”
Lucius tilted his head. “Do you honestly think a true Death Eater would even give his victim a safe word, much less honour it when it was spoken? Stop self-flagellating yourself over things you were forgiven for years ago and for things you had no control over. Everyone knows the measure of you, Severus, except yourself.”
Severus looked at his friend for a long time, seeing the truth behind Lucius’ foppish exterior. Finally, he sheepishly answered. “I’ve been the biggest sort of fool, haven’t I?” The hopeful note in his voice was almost painful to hear, and Lucius’ felt an odd sort of affection well in his breast. It reminded him of how he often felt for Draco.
He smiled smugly at Severus. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
Severus sighed. “I don’t know, Lucius. Once a Death Eater – “
“Always a Death Eater, I know. I took the oath too, my friend.” Lucius’ smile turned wistful again, as they spontaneously pushed back their sleeves to reveal the faded smudge of the Dark Mark both had taken in their youth.
Quietly, Lucius said, “I wanted to believe that my family name and bloodline would be secure; you wanted to believe that power could make up for a lifetime of helplessness. We both had the means within to accomplish what we sought, but we didn’t have the confidence we needed to do it. We wanted it so badly we ransomed ourselves to the manifesto of a madman.
“But we love, Severus. And as hideously Hufflepuff as it sounds, my family is my life, and in the end, I got my life back.” Severus could hear the emotion in his friend’s voice.
Lucius added, “So did you, Severus. Don’t throw it away because you think you’re not supposed to deserve it.”
Severus nodded in acceptance. He looked at Lucius with new eyes and replied ruefully, “When did you go and get so deep on me, Lucius?”
“Oh, I’ve always had depth, Severus. I just found it easier to hide in the shallow pool. You were always the one drowning in the deep end.”
He gave his friend a fond pat on the back. “Go home. Apologise to that lovely wife of yours and flog her into a mass of insensate lust.” He prodded Severus to his feet and turned him toward the door. “There’s a lovely little shop in Knockturn Alley called Pandora Spocks. You know the type – just bristling with all sorts of treats for your kinky little lioness to play with. Go and buy her something nice. Tell them I sent you.”
Genuinely intrigued, Severus asked, “Why? Will they give me a discount?”
Lucius looked pained. “No, but the Malfoy name still carries weight in this country. If you mention me, I’ll get a discount.”
Severus chuckled, his heart suddenly lighter. “Still scrounging freebies. Quintessential Lucius.”
His friend saluted him with his glass. “Still refusing to believe the best of yourself. Quintessential Severus.”
Lucius opened the door. “Severus, don’t screw this up. I’m counting on you not to break up our ‘Golden Quartet.’ Go and beg your little girl for forgiveness, then roger a Hermione-shaped dent in the mattress. Or the bed of nails, or whatever you degenerates are using as a surface nowadays.”
“I will. Do pass on my love to Narcissa.”
“I will. Tell Hermione I look forward to our next games night.”
Severus Apparated to the grounds and walked toward the school gates. He wanted to give himself time to plan exactly what to do and say to make things right with Hermione. He entered the castle, feeling a renewed sense of optimism. Hermione was the brightest witch of her age. She knew he had ballsed up royally, but she loved him; she would forgive him for being such a berk. Severus increased his stride, his long legs eating up the miles of corridors to their bed chamber.
He would be tender and gentle, but still dominant and in control, just enough to test the waters, to see if she wanted to continue with their experiment. Merlin, he hoped so. It had been fucking amazing.
Mentally, he retraced his actions in the cave, right up to the moment she’d screamed the safe word. It was difficult; he had been so caught up in the sheer rapture of the moment he scarcely remembered his own name. He had unrepentantly taken liberties with the definition of pleasure, to be sure, but she had reveled in that. The little forays into punishment and discipline had excited her unbearably; he could sense it, taste it on his tongue, scent it in the air.
She had begged him for more and he had willingly given it, drinking in her pleas and cries as he pounded his urgency and his lust into her body. It was only when he realized he was holding her hair like the reins of a horse had he come back to himself. Something about her hair, perhaps?
He frowned. He loved dragging his hands through the wild, untamable mane of her hair. How many times in the past few days, leading up to the cave, had he buried his hands in her impossible tresses, kissing her feverishly, as she opened her mouth and allowed his domination?
He quietly opened the door to their bed chamber, and approached their bed, thinking she would be asleep. He would undress and slip in behind her, using all his formidable powers of persuasion to entice her to forgive him. She had to; she simply had to.
The bed was empty.
For a moment, Severus stood staring at the bed. He was disappointed, but not unduly concerned. He looked at the time; it was just past midnight. Perhaps she’d taken a walk around the school. She sometimes did so after a difficult day, just to work off some tension. Perhaps he’d corner her in a deserted classroom and make a detention fantasy come true.
Severus took out his wand. “Accio Headmaster’s Map!” A small scrap of parchment flew into his hands, and he laid it on the bed.
When Hermione had told him about the infamous Marauder’s Map that belonged to Harry Potter, he had been reluctantly impressed with the magic needed to imbue the map with the ability to track each and every person in the school – even though it had rankled him at the time to admit it.
When Hermione had returned to Hogwarts as a professor, Severus had enlisted her, along with Minerva and Filius, to create something similar for himself and future Headmasters and mistresses. It not only showed the whereabouts of each person in the castle, but everyone on the grounds, and could switch from House to House and from Wizarding Folk to other Magical Creatures. It could also zero in on one particular person or one particular part of the castle.
It had become an invaluable tool; it had also cemented his reputation with students as being able to appear out of nowhere at the very moment a student was in a part of the school they shouldn’t be in performing acts of mischief they shouldn’t be doing. He often wondered if Dumbledore had owned something similar, but if he had, the old poof wasn’t telling.
Severus tapped the parchment with his wand. “Show me Hermione Snape.” He watched the map swirl and change like smoke moving over the parchment. Lines formed and dissipated, names flickered over the surface and vanished.
Severus frowned. The words, “Hermione Snape is not at Hogwarts” appeared on the parchment.
Scowling, Severus tapped the parchment again. “Show me Severus Snape.” Within seconds, the shapes and words shifted to reveal the line drawing of their quarters, and the legend, “Severus Snape is in the Headmaster’s Bed Chambers” flashed over the parchment.
His heart pounding, Severus tried to think where Hermione might be. They had several friends, but he could not imagine her with them. In fact, knowing her, there was really only one place she might be.
The cave was dark and cold; the fire had died, leaving the room dank and gloomy. The bed was empty there as well. Feeling the first vestiges of apprehension blooming in his chest, Severus called her name, but heard nothing but the echoes mocking him, tossing her name back to him in his beautiful voice.
Play the game for more than you can afford to lose … only then will you learn the game. Winston Churchill
Severus returned from the cave, back to Hogwarts, trying not to panic. He was sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for Hermione’s absence. There was no cause for alarm. Yet.
He stood in the middle of the room and tried to calm his pounding heart. It embarrassed him that he, of all people, allowed his fear to unsettle his reason. For fuck’s sake, Snape, you used to be a sodding spy – use that supposedly brilliant mind of yours to think! He chided himself, and took a deep breath to quell the rising anxiety. She had to be somewhere. Riding on the coattails of that thought was a new, insidious notion: what if she didn’t want him to find her?
He looked around their bedroom for clues. Nothing was missing; all her clothes were in place. He opened the wardrobe and breathed a cautiously hopeful sigh at the sight of her beaded bag. Hermione never went anywhere for any length of time without that bag. It had been with her since her year on the run before the end of the war, and even Severus admitted it was a thing of pure genius, even if it was a trifle shabby now. If it was still here, Hermione wasn’t seriously thinking of leaving. Yet.
Severus stepped into their bathroom, and breathed a final sigh of relief. Her toothbrush was still here. Hermione, daughter of dentists, never went anywhere for longer than a day without it – next to her wand and the bag, it was her most indispensable travel companion. Hermione hadn’t left him. Yet.
Feeling slightly dizzy with relief, Severus sat down and tried to gather his thoughts. He honestly didn’t think they’d crossed paths going to and from the Malfoys; Lucius, knowing Severus’ anxiety, would have insisted that Hermione Floo-call him. He honestly couldn’t see her showing up at Grimmauld Place or the Burrow at midnight, asking if she could stay the night. Her parents were living in Australia and had been since before the war; both Hermione and Severus had long ago sold their childhood residences. Hogwarts was their only home now.
Severus leapt to his feet, fighting the urge to slap his forehead. Of course! “Winky!” he bellowed. Instantly the little house-elf appeared, twisting her hands in her Hogwarts tea towel. Her round eyes were huge and troubled.
“Is the Headmaster needing anything, sir?” she asked, her squeaky voice fraught with concern. The Headmaster never bothered house-elves this late at night.
“Winky, could you please find Mrs. Snape, and tell her – ask her to please return to Hogwarts with you?” Severus fought to keep the irritation from showing in his voice. Here he’d been, running about like a headless chicken, when he could have located her in five seconds had he been thinking straight. House-elves, with their own powerful magic, were expert in locating people and objects. It only occurred to Severus afterward to be grateful for their legendary discretion as well. The gossips would have a field day with this if they found out.
Winky nodded so enthusiastically Severus was afraid she would bang her head on the floor. She squeaked, “Yes, sir. Winky will be finding Mrs. Headmaster in two ticks.” The house-elf disappeared with a small “POP!” and Severus sat back and waited, praying to the gods Hermione would agree to return. He’d purposely chosen Winky because of Hermione’s well-known affinity for the once-abused elf, and Severus felt smugly sure Hermione would come back if only to spare the house-elf’s feelings. Once she was here, Severus would take over. He’d do whatever it took to keep her here. He’d get down on his knees and beg …
It occurred to him that Winky was taking an inordinately long time to return. Most house-elves could locate someone within seconds. If she was taking this long, perhaps Hermione wasn’t inclined to return with her. What if Winky couldn’t persuade Hermione to come back to Hogwarts? Severus began to pace. What if Hermione had left him? What if she was planning on coming back in the morning to pick up her things, her bag, her toothbrush?
The “POP” that signaled Winky’s return made Severus actually jump, and his heart fell to his feet at the sight of the house-elf. She was alone, and she looked worried. She ran to Severus’ side.
“Headmasters, Winky is finding Mrs. Headmaster, but Winky can’t get her to wake up!” Tears stood in the house-elf’s enormous round eyes. “Winky shake and shake her arm, and then Winky tries magic to open her eyes, but the Mrs. Headmaster doesn’t wake up! Winky thinks Mrs. Headmaster is poisoned!”
Severus felt a rush of adrenaline like a ball of fire running through his system. He forced himself not to panic. “Where is she, Winky? Take me to her.” Even as he spoke, Severus strode to a special cupboard in his study, and grabbed a standard potions kit from the shelf. It contained several non-specific poison antidotes, and Severus could easily create something for a more specific need. He would not allow himself to think further.
Winky was nodding. “Yes, sir, Winky can take you there!” She took the Headmaster’s large hand in hers, and together they Apparated with a loud “CRACK!”
Severus found himself back in the cave. He frowned. “Winky, I’ve looked here before. Are you sure – “
“Winky is finding her in the red room, sir!” The little house-elf was dragging him back to the far unlit wall of the cave, to where he’d taken Hermione on the examination table. He cursed himself for not checking. Damn him and his blind panic! He should have torn the entire cave apart, instead of giving the opening a cursory glance and racing back to Hogwarts like a dunderheaded first-year.
He lit the wall sconces, which bathed the back of the cave in lurid red. He could make out a figure, lying on its side on the table, as still as death. It was Hermione.
Fear and urgency gave Severus wings, and he ran to his wife’s side, leaving the little house-elf behind. “Hermione!” he called hoarsely, but the figure on the table didn’t move. Severus moaned softly as he reached her side, and took her in his arms. “Hermione, please …” he whimpered, more afraid that he’d ever been, even the night he faced his own death.
He gathered her in his arms, looking at her closely. In the dim, scarlet-hued light she looked waxy. Severus laid her gently back down on the table to run a diagnostic spell. As his shaking hand made the first pass, Severus noticed a small potion vial near her head. He recognized it immediately: Draught of Dreamless Sleep.
Feeling almost lightheaded, Severus looked down at Winky, who returned his gaze with worry-filled eyes. “Is the Mrs. Headmaster going to be alright, sir?” the house-elf queried, her voice shrill with fear as she twisted her long fingers in her tea towel.
Laughing shakily, Severus held up his hand to reassure the tiny creature. “Mrs. Snape will be fine, Winky. She’s taken a powerful sleeping draught, but it will wear off in a matter of hours.”
He looked back at Hermione – really looked at her. She had been crying, hard. Her eyes were terribly swollen, tears had dried on her cheeks like lines of salt, and her nose was running. Quietly, he lifted his wife in his arms. She felt so small and vulnerable, and he pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead.
As she settled into his arms, another small vial fell from her fingers. Winky scrambled to pick it up. “The Mrs. Headmaster is dropping this, sir,” she said. “Shall I carry it for the Headmaster?” she added helpfully, her large eyes blinking rapidly.
Severus turned to the little house-elf. “That would be most helpful, Winky, thank you. Now, will you return us to Hogwarts?”
Relieved, Winky nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, sir! Winky will be happy to!” With a sharp “POP!” Severus found himself back in his bedchambers at Hogwarts, his sleeping wife in his arms.
After gently cleansing Hermione’s face and making sure that she was safely ensconced and sleeping peacefully in their bed, Severus retrieved the vial from Winky, dismissing the elf with a celebratory bottle of Butterbeer. He sat down and allowed himself a moment to contemplate what had happened.
From what he could deduce, Hermione must have blind-Apparated back to the cave shortly after he departed. She must have been truly distraught to try something so foolhardy. For reasons he could not fathom, she took a vial of Dreamless Sleep with her. His heart cramped when he realized that, while he’d been selfishly pouring his heart out to Lucius, trying to get someone to tell him what an utter bastard he’d been to his precious wife, Hermione had returned to the scene of the crime, been unable to find him and had simply taken the potion and cried herself to sleep. Looking down at her now, his heart swelled with the joy that she hadn’t left him, coupled with a desire to take every point from Gryffindor House for scaring him so. He didn’t know whether to hold her or spank her. He wanted to do both.
He wanted her to want him to do both.
He examined the vial that Winky had retrieved. As he turned the bottle this way and that, he saw silvery-white wisps of memories churning within, like strands of unicorn hair suspended in liquid. He could only deduce that the memories held the clues as to what had happened, and why.
Severus approached the bed and sat down beside his sleeping wife. In the huge bed she looked even more vulnerable and fragile. Her lovely face, though swollen and blotchy from her tears, was so dear to him. It shone with fierce intelligence, and love, and more than anything he wanted her to open her eyes and show him that love again. He was terrified of her waking and turning away from him in disgust.
Once upon a time he could have survived such an encounter by shutting down his emotions and walking away, telling himself that his pride was all he needed to survive. He had almost convinced himself that love was a weakness, that denial of it was the true sign of strength.
That was before Hermione came into his life and made him want to be a better man – before he’d learned how strong love truly could be. He looked at her again, and tugged his earlobe. Love’s got a lot to answer for, he thought. No. Love was doing just fine until lust and power games slithered into the picture.
Severus leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, and reluctantly rose from the bed. He glanced down again at the little vial of memories. She had extracted them for a reason. He straightened. What the hell. He was a Slytherin. He’d just have to ask for forgiveness later, rather than risk permission now.
The memories slid from the vial into his Pensieve, and he swirled them into the bowl, using his wand, before lowering his face into the churning matter.
He was in a very familiar place; he’d left it not two hours ago. Malfoy Manor.
He could hear the sounds of a scuffle and from his vantage point, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy stood off to one side. All of them looked as if they were there at the request of Lucifer himself. Lucius looked hollow-eyed and disheveled, unkempt and unshaven, his blond hair dull and greasy. To his right, his hated sister in-law Bellatrix Lestrange was ordering several Death Eaters to ‘bring in the fugitives.’
It all gave Severus a sense of time and place. It was over ten years ago, shortly before the Battle of Hogwarts. The day the so-called ‘Golden Trio’ was captured by Snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor.
With a sudden ache in his chest, Severus narrowed his eyes as he saw his wife being dragged into the room by two dirty, unkempt wizards he didn’t recognise. Fenrir Greyback was practically drooling over Hermione, and even ten years later, Severus felt the murderous compulsion to hex the long-dead werewolf.
Behind Hermione, he saw Ronald Weasley and someone so swollen as to be unrecognizable. Severus remembered Hermione saying she had temporarily disfigured Harry with a Stinging hex so he could not be identified. After a fruitless attempt by Bella to get Draco to confirm the unknown boy as Harry, he and Weasley were dragged to the cellar.
As Hermione prepared to follow them, Bella turned on her with a smile that was predatory, almost sexual in its evil intent. “Why don’t we have a chat, my dear – just us girls.”
Severus felt sick as he watched Bella Crucio his precious wife onto the ground. To make matters worse, Hermione was being tortured for information about the very sword he’d delivered to Potter on Dumbledore’s orders.
Severus made himself watch Hermione’s torture, as if it were some sort of penance. Her screams tore through his heart, as Bella screeched insanely –
“CRUCIO! You’re a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! Tell the truth! What else did you take? What else have you got?”
“Nothing!” Hermione screamed, writhing on the Malfoy’s carpet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear!” Severus felt sick with pity as Hermione pissed herself helplessly, moaning in pain and humiliation.
“Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife! What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!” Bella laughed maniacally as Hermione wailed pitifully, the pain turning her inside out, wracking her body with horrible, rictus-like spasms.
As Hermione tried to rise onto her hands and knees, Bella jumped on her in an obscene parody of riding a horse. Hermione was screaming for mercy, and Severus cried out as Bella grabbed her hair, ruthlessly pulling on it with both hands like the reins of a horse.
“I wish you could see yourself!” Bella crowed madly, her voice high-pitched, as Hermione’s scream split the room in half. “Every Death Eater alive is going to take you for a ride soon, Mudblood! You might as well confess, you dirty little Mudblood bitch!”
“I don’t know anything!” Hermione cried, as she began to vomit. She took great lungfuls of air, choking on her own tears and spit. “Please stop! Stop!”
Severus caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Lucius and Narcissa. They were holding hands, their knuckles white. Blood dripped from Lucius’ hands where Narcissa’s nails had dug into his palms. He stared straight ahead, and Severus could see the haunted, desperate looks on their faces. Still the laughter went on, the hair pulling, the Crucios, the torture, the maniacal laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Please,” Hermione sobbed, her eyes mad with pain and fear. “Please, no more…” Bella’s laughter was so grating Severus actually reached for her before remembering this was, after all, a ten-year-old memory about a person thankfully dead. He turned back and watched his brave girl, tears streaming down his face.
Hermione tried to crawl away but she was too weak … her pleas for mercy went unheeded … and still Bella held onto her hair, screeching, “That’s right, little Mudblood! Beg! Beg me to let you go!”
Severus pushed himself from the Pensieve and stared into the room in shock and horror. “Oh gods, Hermione,” he sobbed. “I didn’t know! My poor, brave girl.” Like a sleepwalker, Severus walked back into their bedroom, wiping his eyes. He felt exhausted by what he’d seen, numbed by the implications of what he’d heard.
I wish you could see yourself … Beg me to let you go … he remembered very clearly saying those words verbatim, while taking his wife, while tugging at her hair …
You didn’t know, Severus, he could almost hear Lucius telling him. You couldn’t have known … it was all a misunderstanding …
Severus went into the bathroom and splashed water onto his face, the cold shocking his senses back into life. Hermione would awaken soon, and he knew he had to be there when she did. She needed him.
Hermione drifted awake, feeling warm and safe. The feeling of the soft mattress beneath her was in sharp contrast to the dank cold of the cave. She rose with a start and looked around. She was back in Hogwarts, in their bed. She sat for a moment, confused to the point of wondering if she had dreamed returning to the cave. No, she thought, giving herself a mental shake to clear her head. She had returned to the cave, praying Severus was there, hoping to explain herself.
“How do you feel?” Hermione whirled with a little gasp, and saw her husband standing in the doorway of their bedroom. He looked tired and worried, and unsure of his welcome. Hermione felt the tears threaten again.
“I – I went looking for you.” She knew it sounded foolish to her own ears, but he nodded.
For a moment they remained still, and the silence hung between them like an apparition. Hermione took a deep breath and said quietly, “Please don’t be angry with me. I can explain.”
Severus walked into the room and sat beside her on the bed. He took her hands in his and kissed them softly. “There’s no reason to be angry with you. I saw the memory.”
Hermione closed her eyes, and when Severus took her in his arms, she felt her tears fall again. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he whispered, his sweet, silvery voice another kind of caress. “I completely misunderstood the situation, didn’t I? You’ve never really told me about that night.”
“I never really thought about it!” she cried, pulling away from him to look into his eyes. They were her husband’s liquid black eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, full of concern and love. The relief she felt at that moment was her undoing. She threw her arms around him and sobbed against his chest. “I didn’t mean to spoil everything!”
For several moments Severus rocked her in his arms, shushing and crooning to her, calming her with his gentle hands, his beautiful voice. “You haven’t spoiled anything, pet. Shh. You’ll make yourself ill,” he soothed. “Hush now. It’s alright. Don’t cry now.”
“Thank you,” she whimpered. “Thank you.”
She felt him stiffen, and pull away from her. He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. “Why on earth are you thanking me, Hermione?”
She sniffed, and he produced a snowy handkerchief. “For not leaving me.”
The stricken look on his face was enough to convince Hermione of his next words. “Leaving you? Pet, I thought you had left me! I was frantic when I couldn’t find you! I was so distraught I sent Winky to locate you!” There was fear in his voice, seasoned with a tinge of anger, but it disappeared when he added, “I thought I had ruined our marriage, and I was terrified.”
Hermione looked up in his eyes and was shocked to see tears standing in his eyes. “But – but you sent me away! You removed my bracelets!”
Severus swallowed uncomfortably. “I thought I was hurting you, Hermione. Out of the blue, you started screaming the safe word, and the only thing I could deduce that was that I’d been so caught up in dominating you that I wasn’t even aware of harming you. I thought – oh, I don’t know what I thought. I was just so frightened that I’d done some sort of damage and you were afraid of me.”
He looked away, feeling more foolish by the second. “If I’d not been so ready to believe the worst in myself, I would have calmed down and had you explain what really happened.” He looked ashamed. “I wasn’t worthy enough to dominate you. I didn’t take the responsibilities that I should have taken.”
For a moment, they sat in silence. Finally, Hermione said, “It seems we were at cross-purposes, weren’t we?” She tried to smile. “I think I need to explain everything.”
Severus nodded, and when she pulled him close, he acquiesced and joined her in bed. Hermione relaxed against his chest, and when he gathered her in his arms, she felt as if she could continue.
She closed her eyes as she spoke. “It was – oh, Severus, what you did was wonderful. I have never felt so alive, so enthralled by you, so important to you, as I did in the cave. It was as if we were in a sort of sensual heaven, and everything you did and said to me excited me.
“We were on the bed, and I was just so far gone, so close to coming unglued,” she marveled, remembering the feel of him driving into her, the pleasure of it overwhelming and welcome. “I was just on the brink of coming, and then you pulled my hair. It didn’t even hurt,” she added hastily, then shook her head.
“And suddenly it was as if I was there again. Suddenly, I just felt like I was encased in ice. It was like the world had disappeared and I was at Malfoy Manor on the carpet, wallowing in my own vomit, and Bellatrix was riding me like a fucking horse, screaming for me to beg her to let me go, and all I could think about was getting away.” Hermione felt Severus’ grip on her tighten. “The night it happened, I just remembered thinking; nothing I say will make this stop. She’s going to torture me to death. I’m going to die here, and nothing I say will stop it.”
Hermione felt Severus nod against the top of her head. “And then you remembered that you could say something to make it stop. Your safe word.”
Hermione turned in his arms and looked up at him. “Yes! That’s exactly what I was thinking.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, and he held her tighter. “Severus, you must believe me. I hadn’t thought of that night in years. I mean, I attended counseling to help me learn to deal with it, for Merlin’s sake!”
She sighed in frustration. “I thought I had learned to accept it and deal with it. I mean, Bellatrix is dead, and I hadn’t really even thought about it for ages.” She looked at him imploringly. “Why would I have a flashback in the middle of the most glorious sex of my life?”
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to reply. Finally, he said, “I’m no expert, but I believe that the moments were similar enough to cause them to merge in your mind.”
“But – but, you weren’t hurting me!”
Patiently, Severus continued, “No, but you were physically in a very similar pose. You were experiencing intense physical sensations, you were in an extremely submissive state of surrender, and your guard was down. I said things that triggered the memory, albeit accidentally, and suddenly you were reliving the moment.”
He placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “There’s no shame in it, Hermione. What you were made to endure that day was an abomination. It was just an unfortunate set of coincidences that you were made to relive it during our lovemaking.”
He held her closely, and Hermione felt safe, and even more importantly, understood. Severus’ voice was dark and rich with emotion. “I forget, love, that my wife, whom I regard as the epitome of bravery, a fierce Gryffindor warrior-witch, was once a terrified eighteen year-old girl who was thrown into the middle of a war with only her wits and a beaded bag as her weapons against the greatest Dark force of our generation.”
He turned her in his arms until they were facing one another. “I don’t think this is something that will happen to you often. But it serves as a reminder that this type of sexual relationship isn’t just a physical one – it affects us emotionally and mentally as well.
“When you called out the safe word, I thought I was hurting you without even realizing it. I thought the darkness in my life had brought you harm. I was so afraid I’d done irreparable damage that the coward in me fled.” His voice was so low she could feel it vibrating in his chest. “I couldn’t face you kicking me out of your life.”
Hermione looked at him, and her heart ached. “Oh, Severus, this has been a tragedy of errors! If only you had stayed and let me explain!” She sighed again. “I thought you were disappointed in me – that I wasn’t worthy of you and the time and trouble you’d gone to in order to make tonight so incredibly special.”
She nestled against him again. “I came back here to see if you’d returned, and I grabbed a Calming Draught and a spare bottle from the cabinet to place my memories in. I was determined to show you what was going on in my head, in hopes you would forgive me and help me to understand why I reacted the way I did. When you didn’t return home, I went back to the cave –”
“That’s another thing, Hermione. How on earth did you go back?” he said, with a frown.
Hermione looked up at him rather sheepishly. “Well, I just closed my eyes and visualized the cave and Apparated.”
Severus looked at her with such incredulity in his face Hermione felt as if she’d done something illegal. Finally, he stammered, “That’s – that’s incredibly dangerous, Hermione! Promise me you’ll never do something so – so –”
“Stupid?”
Severus pressed his lips in a thin line. “I was about to say ‘Gryffindor’, but the same difference.”
When she did not protest, Severus pulled her back into his arms. “We’ll discuss that little infraction later, Miss Granger.” When she did not react, he relaxed somewhat. So, not averse to the thought of punishment, then. Hastily he continued, “I apologise for interrupting you. You were saying you’d returned to the cave, and…?”
“ – And? Oh! Well, I started filling one of the bottles with the memory, and then I took the Calming Draught.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “Only it wasn’t, was it? I misread the bottle, I’m afraid. I didn’t realise until I was falling asleep on my feet that it was Dreamless Sleep! I had taken the entire bottle.” She looked up at him with her large, amber eyes and Severus slumped with relief.
For the next hour, they held one another, filling in the blanks of the past hours apart and together. Severus felt almost giddy as the realization dawned that he had not destroyed his marriage. Followed closely on the heels of this epiphany was the knowledge that he had also not destroyed their sex life, their friendship, and most importantly, his wife’s peace of mind.
In a particularly long silence, Severus summoned his courage to the sticking place and asked, “Hermione, do you forgive me for sending you back?”
She turned and looked at him carefully. Slowly she said, “There is nothing to forgive, Severus. Do you forgive me for insisting we embark on this,” she waved her hand as if to draw it in the air, “experiment we started in the cave? I’m sorry about what happened – but for your sake, not mine.” She lowered her eyes bashfully. “I loved what you did. I wanted it.” She took a deep breath, and dared to look him in the eye. “I still do, if you wish to continue.”
Severus felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Again, pet, there is nothing to forgive. I was the one too concerned with protecting myself. I allowed my pride in the man I have become to overshadow the man I was; the man I am. I honestly thought that in trying to become a better man that I should erase the past.”
He relaxed. “The things that happened all those years ago – they can’t be erased, even if we place all the memories of them in a Pensieve. We just have to learn to live with them, as you did.” He pulled his ear thoughtfully. “As I was reminded earlier this evening, I have a lot of self-recrimination to make up for.”
The smile on Hermione’s face was all the answer he needed. Severus kissed her forehead again, and paused to enjoy her downy skin, her soft, milky fragrance. “I have made my peace with the past.” He stroked her face, brushing the last remnants of her tears away. “I can take pleasure in this, in you, in any way you desire. I too, want this to continue.”
Hermione looked into his eyes, and felt her heart swell until it felt as if it would burst from her chest. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, and sighed into his mouth. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, smiling.
He pulled her closer and kissed her again, his lips warm and slow, a gradual, tender pressure against her mouth, deepening by inches, until his mouth suckled against hers, and she whimpered her appreciation, allowing his soft, insistent tongue entrance.
These were not the exhilarating, suffocating kisses of a Master, but the tender, overwhelming kisses of a man making love with his mouth, his lips, his tongue; a man seducing his witch, ensnaring her with her own arousal. These kisses were just as devastating, just as mind-robbing. Hermione felt his hands thread tentatively through her hair, and she broke away from him.
Seeing the uncertainty in his face, she added hastily, “May I do something for you, sir?”
The change in his demeanor was immediate and unsettling. He seemed to grow at once darker and more solid, but the fire in his eyes sent Hermione’s heart thudding hard in her chest. He tilted his head. “And what would like to do for me, little girl?” To sweeten his words, he dialed in just enough silken menace in his voice to make the saddle between her legs grow hot and wet.
Hermione smiled, and felt the invisible bond between them slip back into place. “I would like to finish what we started, which was rudely interrupted earlier.”
He smiled sensuously, with just a whisker of a smirk playing about his lips. “Nothing would satisfy me more, Miss Granger.” He reached for his wand and magically removed their clothing.
Hermione shivered with delight at the feel of his marble-cool skin against hers. Suddenly, the thought of wrapping her hand around his already-rigid member was maddening, like an itch she was dying to scratch. Hermione moaned, “May I touch you, sir?”
His heated gaze only served to embed the precious ache deeper into her core. His fingers found her erect nipple, waiting for him, and he moaned. “I have no will left in which to deny you, pet,” he murmured. The soft desperation and relief in his voice was unbearably sweet. “Please touch me. Do whatever perverse acts you want with my body, and I’ll beg you for more.”
With a smile on her lips, Hermione moved against him, sliding her hands over his smooth, pale flesh, nuzzling against the warm, fragrant skin at his throat. She nipped against his neck, knowing how much he enjoyed it, knowing it would leave him moaning with longing. She urged him with soft entreaties, and soon he was looking up at her as she straddled him.
She moved languidly down his pale body, placing slow, caressing, biting kisses on his caramel-coloured nipples, his stomach, his hipbones. She paused at the tip of his cock, and placed a loving soft kiss on the tip, licking a dollop of pre-cum from her lips. Humming with appreciation, she whispered, “Tell me what you want, Master, and I will do it.” She smiled and reluctantly moved away from the temptation of his rigid member, and rose to mount him.
The heat in his gaze turned molten, and the hands resting lightly on her thighs pulled at her firmly. “I want you to fuck me,” he breathed, a long slow exhale of satisfaction as she hovered, poised, over his straining cock. “That’s it. Ride me.”
Hermione would have liked to have teased him; a gentle, playful punishment for his earlier heartless demands for patience and discipline. The truth was that she couldn’t. Her desire wouldn’t allow it. She had to have him, and with pure Gryffindor eagerness, she impaled herself on his raging prick in one long, deep stroke, making them both cry out into the room.
“Gods!” she moaned, gasping, riding out the urge to let her orgasm go, even as Severus hissed and bucked beneath her.
“Merlin’s bollocks, girl,” he swore, licking his lips. His eyes rolled back as she clenched around him. He grasped her hips. “Move on me. Do it.” Hermione obeyed by rising from his slender hips, then dropping down, keeping her hips tilted back so that he could watch his shaft pulling away from her needy body. He moved with her, hissing with pleasure each time she received his sharp, upward stroke.
“Why is it that every time I fuck you it feels like the very first time I entered your silken cunt?” he growled, pouting with the exquisite pleasure of tapping against her tender cervix.
She gasped in delight with the growing intensity of each downward rock of her hips, each upward thrust of his cock. “Why is it that I’m always so wet for you, love?” She countered huskily.
He gave her a smile of pure, heated bliss. “You really are deliciously wet … and so hot … you could burn me to cinders and I’d still beg for the privilege.” His fingers drifted to her clit and began their dance. He watched her face as it changed, grew slack with pleasure. “Oh, yes, pet, I am addicted to you.”
Her hips rolled sensuously as she ground down on him. “I want this so much,” she moaned, watching his face intently, watching it gradually slacken as he gave himself up to the pleasure. “Because you’re my Daddy and my Master, and I want you to enjoy it, to give into it.” His hips rose to meet hers, and his eyes grew darkly glazed with need. “Let go, my love,” she whispered, her nails gently scoring his chest, making him shiver. “Show me how much you want it.”
As she moved, Hermione reached around behind and cupped his balls in her hand, stroking his perineum as she rocked into him. He whimpered, his face growing soft and blank, as if he were releasing the moorings within himself and allowing her to take him where she chose. Hermione understood the dark power of dominance a little better when Severus opened his glowing eyes and whimpered; a look of complete, innocent abandon on his face.
Hermione smiled down at him, and reached forward ostensibly to give him access to her breasts, but in reality she retrieved a small object from her nightstand. A silent spell later and she rose back over Severus, a goddess of light, smelling of sex and need and power, and he rolled her nipples in his long fingers as he felt her reach behind and slide her slick hand beyond his perineum. She tenderly circled the ring of his anus, then slipped a small plug into his waiting hole. “Bear down,” she crooned, and his eyes rolled back. A sigh of pleasure washed over her, and she leaned over to reward his mouth with her nipples again.
Severus felt the device in his rectum pressing against his prostate, and his groin was instantly flooded with the most melting, delicious pleasure he’d ever experienced. He mewled softly, “Baby … my good girl, that’s it … that’s it …” He grasped her hips and began to buck up into her. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned, his balls aching for release. He had never felt so vulnerable, or so ready.
He looked into her eyes with such feral joy Hermione could feel her skin tighten. Dark, demonic lust flushed his face, and he grew more abandoned. Hermione could feel her own climax pooling in her core, a gathering of nerve endings and emotions and the best, purest magic, and when Severus cried out, “Come, now! You must come with me, Hermione! Oh yess … girl, please!” Hermione shattered into a million pieces, each as crystalline and perfect as she would ever be because she was one with her wizard, her man, her lover, her master, her daddy, her slave …
She looked down at him, her face glowing with unspeakable pleasure, as she twitched and mewled her little cries with each thumping pulse of her sex. He had given her everything she wanted and now he was receiving it back a thousand fold, and it augmented him to the order of the angels. It didn’t seem possible to come this hard for this long. He would surely rupture something if his cock continued its spraying, spitting dance in his beautiful wife’s body. He was quivering all over, crying out desperately as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.
Hermione collapsed against his heaving chest, gasping harshly for breath. They were both shaking, laughing, crying. The blood that finally flooded back into his body from his exhausted erection was so oxygen-deprived that for a moment Severus felt on the verge of losing consciousness. Hermione slowly slid from his body, and he pulled her to him with the fervor of a drowning man clutching a life preserver. “My good, good girl,” he gasped, kissing her passionately. “My babe.”
As Hermione reached under and gently removed the toy, Severus shivered and hissed. Several quick cleansing spells later, and Hermione was back in his arms, melting against him lovingly.
“That little stunt was incredibly presumptuous of you, Miss Granger,” he rumbled, his voice sounding sated and sleepy. With a whispered “Nox,” the room was plunged into darkness. He stifled a yawn as he added, “I can see that more time in the cave is needed. I shall have to punish you most soundly for being such a wicked girl.”
In the darkness, Severus felt Hermione smile against his chest. “Thank the gods for that.”
He chuckled; a low sensuous sound that even in Hermione’s exhausted state had the power to make her shiver. “I shall retrieve your bracelets in the morning, pet.” He grew still. “That is, if you still wish to wear them.”
Hermione’s grip tightened on his waist. “Very much so.”
“Good,” he rumbled sleepily. “But I have an idea.”
“And what’s that, love?”
Again the dark little chuckle vibrated in her belly. “I see we need to re-examine the consequences of your lack of patience, Miss Granger.”
One cannot fix one’s eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food for a rambling fancy. Jane Austen
Being the governess of the Slope household was not the most unpalatable position for a woman of her age and class, but she had nevertheless been thrilled to be given five whole days alone while her employers went to the coast to visit Mrs. Slope’s sister and her new baby.
Five days of solitude and quiet – how blissful that sounded to the young governess. She had already spent the first day reading to her heart’s content, vowing to read until she was sick of her beloved books – what a luxury!
She had walked the grounds, feeling like the queen of the castle. She had wandered the home like a happy little ghost, safe in the knowledge that she was quite alone and away from prying eyes. Only the cook and her jolly husband, the stable hostler, remained in residence, and they were just as pleased as she for the days of respite. Except for mealtimes, she saw them not at all.
But she heard them. Oh, she had heard them. Off in their room, like animals, grunting and banging the headboard against the wall! It was disgraceful; she really should find some tactful way to let them know their wanton noises had been heard but –
But she could not. She had listened with complete and utter concentration to cook’s moans and cries, her husband’s deep answering growls and endearments, and had felt a sharp, hungry yearning. It had been so long since the furtive fumblings of her own youth, but she still remembered. She could close her eyes and still see the young stable boy who had classically seduced her when she was but an eighteen-year-old girl. Oh, yes, she still remembered the stolen caresses, the short, sharp shock of the loss of her maidenhead. Sometimes at night, she would picture his dark hair and flashing dark eyes, as he pulled the pleasure from her untouched body, and she would burn …
She shook her head to clear her licentious thoughts. Such wicked musings were inappropriate for a woman of her position, in this day and age. After all, she was eight and twenty now, an enlightened woman; her body should be long past the age for the mindless drives of the flesh. And yet, at night, hearing the strained sounds of her fellow house servants, the rhythmic slap of the bed against the wall, it would take all her will not to raise her nightclothes and touch herself.
Such thoughts in the bright light of day alarmed her. She was not a woman of bad breeding or ill fame – why on earth was she thinking like one? “Another read, I think,” she said aloud, heading quickly toward the library. Perhaps a walk through the garden after supper wouldn’t go amiss, either. Nothing like fresh air and a good book to prepare the body for a night’s sleep – a long, dreamless night’s sleep.
There was a knock at the door, and she sighed fretfully. She had hoped there would be no callers while her employers were away. Even cook and her husband were absent from the house at present; when she returned from her walk, they had asked if she would mind spending a few hours alone while they visited friends in the nearby village.
Visiting the pub, more like, she’d thought to herself, but she nevertheless smiled and sincerely wished them a pleasant evening. Although it was strictly improper to leave a young, unmarried woman alone in the house, she had assured them she was quite capable of taking care of herself, and would be happy to while away the hours by the fire in the library amongst her beloved tomes.
The weather had conspired to make it a strange sort of day, and thunder and lightning had been threatening since the afternoon, leaving her feeling discontent and unable to sit still. So the intrusion of another was not welcome. For a moment she thought of simply ignoring the rather polite taps on the door, but propriety would not allow it. The roiling clouds meant that, whoever her guest was, they would soon be caught in the storm if she pretended they did not exist.
She opened the door just as a flash of lightning formed a corona of light around the tall figure silhouetted in the opening, making her gasp and jump. In the seconds it took for her to calm her pounding heart, she took the measure of the man in the doorway.
He was tall and thin, dressed in unrelieved black, except for his white collar. The paleness of his face and hands stood out in stark contrast to the severe robe and his raven hair. Instantly, she recognized the gaunt, stern features of their village vicar. He looked surprised that the governess would be answering the door.
“Father! Forgive me – the lightning gave me a rather childish fright,” she said, blushing prettily. She held open the door for him. “Please come in before the storm truly takes hold.”
She stepped aside as he entered Slope Manor, brushing the rain from his shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry to have alarmed you, Miss, but I had hoped to outrace the storm,” he explained in his lovely voice. It was deep and melodious, with just a lilt of the North in its inflection, and it gave weight and charm to every word of his weekly sermons.
He turned to her, ramrod straight, still and somewhat diffident, looking down his large, rather prominent nose at her. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid my horse threw a shoe, and I was forced to walk it here.”
She led the priest into the library. “How dreadful for you! Please warm yourself by the fire, Father. I’m sure our hostler would be only too happy to have a look at your horse.” She poured the priest a glass of sherry. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until he returns from visiting friends, however. You see, he and his wife are out for the evening, and the Slopes are down South visiting relatives.”
The priest nodded politely. “I was surprised to see the stables empty when I entered therein. I am doubly sorry I have inconvenienced you, Miss.”
She smiled. While she had engaged the priest in conversation only once before, she found him to be serene, pious, and only slightly aloof. He accepted his glass of sherry with a formal nod of thanks, and waited until she was seated before he took his seat. For a moment they looked at one another, the silence strained and uncomfortable. Finally, the priest cleared his throat, as if preparing to launch into a Sunday missive.
“I had hoped to pay a visit with your employer this evening, and now have disturbed you and placed you in the uncomfortable position of receiving a gentleman caller alone. Forgive me.” He placed the glass of sherry on the table and stood to take his leave. “I will return during a more opportune time.”
Just as he rose, there was a deafening crash of thunder, causing her to jump again. Rain began to pound at the windows in torrential sheets. She turned to the priest with an apologetic smile.
“It appears that Providence has other plans, Father.” She motioned for him to resume his seat. “I could not send you out in this storm to walk back to the vicarage on foot, regardless of propriety.”
The priest blushed to his hairline. “I will assure you, Miss, I could not bear the thought of possibly compromising your situation here.”
As if to answer, the thunder and lightning flashed and crashed overhead, and she actually cried out in surprise. Pressing a hand to her thumping heart, she laughed shakily. “If I were to be perfectly frank, Father, I would rather you stayed here. As dire as the elements are tonight, I think I would feel much safer with a man of the church here to protect me from them!”
To her surprise, the priest ducked his head. In the lovely voice that had charmed and infatuated more than one female parishioner, he said, “I do not pretend to have divine influence over the elements, Miss, but I will gladly stay if I can act in the role of protector of the house.”
She smiled at him, and the priest’s stern heart leapt. He knew of no lovelier woman in this part of his parish. She was innocent and virtuous, to be sure, but with such a serene countenance as he had seldom seen.
As the tempest raged outside, they gradually forgot the worries of propriety and spoke easily with one another of city life, their vocations, and their families. It became clear that the gale had settled in for the evening, and that cook and her husband would be hours away from returning to the manor; the priest was equally as long away from returning to the vicarage.
As the clock chimed ten, she rose and said to him, “I simply could not allow you to risk your health in this torrent, Father.” She looked doubtful, but added, “I’m sure cook and the hostler will understand when they return, but won’t you retire here at the Manor for the evening?”
His eyes were shocked, and for a moment, she felt as if she’d proposed something brazen. Hastily she added, “The South Wing is empty, but for a few dusty bedrooms. You would be most welcome there.”
He frowned, and placed a pale hand over his heart. “I am not sure that would be seen as prudent, Miss –”
She looked at him imploringly. “Please, Father! I understand your reticence, but I pray you don’t leave merely on this account! I would never forgive myself if harm befell you!”
The priest looked at the fire, and back at the lovely governess. Finally, he nodded reluctantly. “Very well, then. I accept your generous hospitality, Miss.” He graced her with a smile that lit his austere features.
She took him to the South Wing of the manor, which was in actuality a small set of rooms off the main hall.
As the oil lamp passed from her hand into his, their fingertips brushed one another’s, sending a jolt racing through her system. His eyes shot up to meet hers, and he acknowledged her with a little, formal bow. “Goodnight, Miss. May your dreams be as full of innocence and sweetness as you yourself.”
Blushing, she replied, “Why, thank you, Father. May your dreams be pleasant as well.”
She stood watching the door as it swung closed.
The storm battered fruitlessly against the stone house, and she lay on her bed, restive, craving sensations she did not dare name. Thoughts of the most indecent nature played in her head, and she was both ashamed and frightened of the arousal they caused. In her mind she saw the ascetic priest, his dark, dark eyes watching her intently, the feel of their fingers touching. He so reminded her of her stable-boy, with his black hair and dusky body, pressing her onto the hay, humming a sweet tune to seduce and arouse her.
He had been so patient and beautiful, readying her with his warm, rough hands, tangling them in her long, wanton curls, pressing his pale, hot member into her waiting womanhood. It had been the slightest sting, then the most delicious pleasure, and she had moaned into his mouth as he rode her body knowingly, blissfully …
She thought of the priest, somewhere in the house, like a pale spirit. He’s in the house with me, alone, she thought. What would it be like to know such a man –
“Stop it!” she whispered fiercely. She was a woman grown – she should and could hold sway over her base desires. “What on earth would he think if he knew your wicked thoughts?” she chastised herself, and turned scarlet with the shame of the imagined look of revulsion he would wear.
She fell asleep, fitfully, yearning…
The priest lay in his large bed, trying to pray. Each time he closed his eyes and tried to summon the Infinite, the lovely face of the Slope governess replaced the angelic hosts with something much more real, so much more accessible …
He was not a man given to flights of carnal obsession; like many men of the cloth, he wished to eventually marry well and have sons, but he had never felt the need to daydream about this landowner’s young daughter or that spinster parishioner with the child-bearing hips. True, he had noticed them, but had not panted over them; they had never tempted the flesh as did this lovely governess, with her intelligent eyes and curvaceous body, made for sin …
For perhaps two hours the priest prayed for strength and guidance, for forbearance, for forgiveness against temptation. But every time he thought he had managed to quell the old Adam of his heart, he could picture her face, turned up to his …
He rose from his bed and began to pace.
In her bed, the governess fell into an uneasy slumber, tossing restlessly to and fro, her body feverish and flushed. As true deep sleep descended, her taut limbs relaxed, and she began to dream …
It was no use; he was not getting any sleep. He simply could not get her out of his mind. To know that somewhere in the house she lay invitingly in a bed, made his traitorous body rage, and the priest felt an unholy desire to seek her out. He told himself he would just watch her serene face, soft in repose. Of course that’s why you want to go to her, the imp at his left shoulder hissed. Don’t you really want to pull off the bed sheets and push up her nightclothes …
“Enough!” he growled softly. He hastily donned his robe and headed for the library. Slope’s brandy was there – perhaps a glass or two and he would find sleep at last …
In the dark, she rose from her bed, slowly, as if being summoned. Her eyes were glazed and heavy-lidded. She walked with slow, measured steps, toward her books, her beloved books …
The priest had lit a solitary candle to show him the way to the library, and had just located the liquor cabinet when he heard the sound of the door open. He whirled about, almost dropping the candle in surprise as she entered.
“Miss – ?” he said softly, but she walked past him, unseeing, and sat down in a chair, staring at the fire. He looked at her carefully, his brow furrowed in a confused frown. She sat, gazing at the dying embers, heavy-limbed and silent. She was clad in nothing more than a thin nightgown, and he could see the outline of her body in the light of the fire. Her hair was loose; long, honey-brown tresses curled and flowed unfettered down almost to her waist; she looked like a peaceful angel.
Except no angel had ever sat so indecently clothed in her employer’s library in the middle of the night, her soft skin glowing in the firelight, her lovely, pert breasts pressed against the thin fabric, exposing her tender nipples to his riveted gaze.
Moving on silent feet, the priest approached her side. His heart was pounding, and the candle in his hand was shaking. He knelt down beside her chair.
“Miss?” When she did not respond, he looked carefully into her face, and when he saw the curiously blank look in her eyes, he realized with a certain fascination that she was sleepwalking. He had once read that abruptly waking a sleepwalker could have dire, possibly fatal consequences, and a rush of protectiveness flooded his heart. He placed the candle on the table, and gently grasped one arm to pull her onto her feet. “Come with me, Miss,” he whispered, gently, intending to find her room and guide her gently back into her bed.
Obediently, she rose with him, but once on her feet, she seemed to melt against him, and suddenly, she was in his arms, and her warm, soft, lovely breasts swelled against his robe. Tender fingers slid around his neck trustingly, twining in his hair, and she made a soft sound of surrender as she pressed against him.
“You’re here,” she murmured in her sleep. “You’re here with me. You came back to me.”
He could barely breathe. His wicked, sinful heart was betraying him in the basest way imaginable, and he found his own arms sliding around her waist, pulling her to his hard and needy body. His manhood swelled so quickly it seemed to leave no blood in his brain with which to think, and all awareness narrowed down to the feel of her soft flesh pressed to his.
A thought stole unbidden into his heart. She was there, alone with him. No one else was in the house, only him, only her. And she was deeply asleep.
You could do anything you want to her, and no one would know, said the little imp sitting on his left shoulder.
He pulled slightly away from her, and tipped her face up to his. He could see her heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes in the soft candlelight; they were such a lovely amber colour, and her lips were plump and waiting …
“Kiss me,” he whispered.
She smiled in her sleep, raised her face to his, and kissed his cold, trembling lips. She felt warm and alive, and her soft mouth moved against his with an innocent sensuality that almost drove him to his knees. He cupped her cheek in his large hand, and drank from her sweet mouth.
Finally, breaking the kiss, he stepped back again, burning with a helpless lust that he could not break. She stood before him, a sleepy smile on her lips, swollen from his kisses.
The priest’s blood boiled; he had never felt this way, and he was powerless to stop himself. Tomorrow he would resign, tomorrow he would run away, pray for forgiveness, anything to atone for the sin he must commit tonight.
“Would you -” he rasped, and licked his suddenly dry lips. “Raise your gown for me.”
She silently grasped the sides of her thin, summer nightgown, and slowly pulled it up a few inches. “More,” he urged, his eyes growing dark and full of power. Without any reaction other than to obey, she raised the gown until he could see it. She was bare beneath. “Oh, yes,” he moaned, as the dark patch of soft curls appeared, peeking from the hem of her garment. Without conscious thought, the priest sank to his knees and gazed at it longingly, this tempting garden, this triangle, this gateway to paradise, and he was face to face with it. He looked up at her, but she merely gazed down at him, silently regarding him like an acolyte, poised at her womanhood, readying for worship.
He gently touched her soft, milky thighs, and trembled at how smooth, how velvety they were to the touch. Tentatively, he brushed the backs of his fingers against the soft thatch, and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and pressed his large nose against it, seeking her out with the innocence of a pagan.
The scent of her intoxicated him; he almost swooned at the heady perfume of her sex, and he buried his nose into her curls and sniffed hard, flooding his brain with her, memorizing the musky, clean smell of her. His tongue darted from his mouth like that of his old enemy the serpent’s, and slid into the soft slit of her pussy. She was shamelessly moist and the taste of her was as sweet and as heady as wine, and he knew he must have more.
“Sit on the sofa,” he commanded hoarsely, and she silently obeyed, still clutching her gown. He approached her warily, checking for signs that she might awaken, but she was still as deeply asleep as she’d been upon her arrival. With a thumping heart, the priest once again knelt before her, silently cursing himself for his lack of control. “You’re so beautiful,” he crooned, and she smiled in her sleep.
“You are beautiful,” she murmured in reply, and when he placed his cool, pale hands on her knees he felt no resistance.
“Open your legs,” he entreated, and she sighed in her sleep as his large hands pressed her thighs apart, revealing her lovely, glistening womanhood, and he begged his God for forgiveness, even as his serpent’s tongue slid into her lovely secret place, and began to lap at her.
She moaned above him, and he glanced at her still-sleeping face. He was drunk with pleasure and desire and the taste of her sweet juices. Within her folds, his tongue slid over a tiny little button, no bigger than a grape seed. He felt it swell against his lips, and she whimpered softly and began to shudder beneath him.
Understanding, he licked harder, lapping at her folds hungrily, feeling her twitch each time his hard tongue laved over the little bud. When he drew it gently into his mouth, she stiffened, and when his tongue flicked sharply over the surface, she trembled and mewled uncontrollably with her climax. She bathed him in pulsing warmth and moisture, sweeter still.
He drew back from her, his cheeks drenched from her juices, and watched her face intently. It was glowing with her release, but still in its deeply dreaming state, and he panted as his long fingers, seemingly of their own accord, slipped into her exquisite passage.
She closed around his middle and ring fingers tightly, and when he pushed gently he met no resistance. She was not a virgin, then, and his heart flooded with lust and overwhelming desire. He had to have her. He had to bury his sinfully swollen member into this velvet-lined haven.
No one would know.
He reached for the satin bow at her throat and pulled the knot free, pushing her gown from her soft shoulders until her luscious breasts were revealed to him. With eager hands he cupped the tender flesh, marveling at their shape, their texture. The little rosy tits beckoned to him, and he leaned between her parted thighs and captured one in his mouth.
She made a little sound, and her hands fluttered at her side. The priest fought down his urge to moan, still afraid of awakening her, and sighed as he cradled the little hardened bud in his mouth. It was a delectable mixture of smooth and rough, of hard and downy, and he contented himself with gently sucking at it. His fingers found its mate, and he rubbed it between his middle finger and thumb, just to feel it pucker and grow rigid between his fingertips.
He felt her hands sliding through his dark hair, pulling him closer in an almost maternal gesture. His mouth traveled hungrily to the other breast. Her soft, little sleepy coo inflamed his body, and the imp on his left shoulder bellowed for him to take her. The angel sleeping on his right shoulder was curiously silent.
Reluctantly pulling away, he carefully took her into his arms and, with a whispered command, coaxed her down onto the floor with him. Pulling her useless little gown over her head, he marveled at the beauty before him, all delectable curves and curls. For a moment, he held her against him, reveling in the forbidden.
The candle sputtered and caught his eye. The devil on his left shoulder whispered a dark suggestion into his ear again, and something like a sneer crossed over the priest’s face. He reached for the candle stub, and blew it out, plunging the room into blackness. He would be a good man again tomorrow. But tonight …
He moved to kneel beside her, and he gently pushed her neck toward the carpet. “On your knees, my sleeping beauty.” He felt wondrously free and full of power. “Don’t be afraid, my babe. I won’t hurt you.”
Quietly, with her eyes closed, she obeyed. He placed a cushion beneath her head. She crossed her arms and laid her head on them, like a child falling asleep on a windowsill.
The priest’s hands were trembling as he stroked her round, baby-smooth bottom, offered to him so enticingly. Without conscious thought, he opened his robes and freed his aching member from his clerical robes. On his knees, he approached her waiting body from behind. His cock surged as he pulled her back against his loins and slid sweetly home, shuddering helplessly at the unspeakable pleasure of it. Ah, here was his true heaven, his grateful prick seemed to cry. Not there, in the prim confines of priestly wool, but here in the velveteen, tight quim of this precious babe, this beautiful woman …
He lowered his hips and rose again, filling her with his manhood, and she whimpered in her sleep. “Yes, my babe,” he moaned, her pussy like a tightly woven, silken glove around him, “You were made for me, and I for you.”
The candle in his warm hand felt almost as fleshly as his own raging cock, with the same slightly tapered end. Suddenly, it was in his mouth. Making it slick with his own saliva, he gently inserted the butt of the candlestick into the unfurling little hole of her back passage. It was wicked and wrong, but he was so outside himself with such carnal, earthly desire that he no longer cared that he was damned forever. It would be a privilege to be damned to burn in eternity for her.
He moved the phallic candle in counterpoint with his own increasingly rapid thrusts. He could feel his completion rushing down upon him, and he crooned to his sleeping beauty, “Come for me, come with me, my angel, my babe, come for daddy …”
She shuddered, moaning in time with his thrusts, and he felt her pussy ripple around his cock, drawing them together like interlocking souls, perfect in their imperfections, joined as only those blessed by God can join, and he began to thrust hard, heedless of waking her, oblivious to thoughts of God or man or angels or demons. Mindful only of the crippling, blinding pleasure of a man losing himself in the body of his woman, his angel, his goddess, and his roar of ecstasy rivaled the thunder and lightning that raged around him …
He collapsed against her, spent, and removed the candle from its passage. It was shockingly hot; he was surprised her body hadn’t melted the wax. Gasping, he looked down at his beauty, his issue seeping milkily from her tiny entrance. Without thought, he knelt and lapped her clean, grimacing at the bitterness of his seed; reveling in the sweetness of her quim.
When he had finished partaking of this sacrament, he rose to his feet slowly, wincing at the pain in his knees. Tenderly, he took her in his arms and carried her back to bed. Her face was pressed against his neck, and he could feel her soft breath against his skin. As he lay her in her bed, he shed his robes, and climbed in beside her and curled around her, protecting her from the storm, and protecting himself from tomorrow’s retribution.
She awoke alone, stretching, feeling marvelous and relaxed – and naked. She sighed with a little frown. She had hoped he would still be lying with her, so that she could repay the delicious ministrations he had bestowed upon her during the night. The slave, awakening from her torture, only to wake up the Master from his torment …
She padded softly into the library, and found him sitting by the fire, reading a small book with a green cover.
“Good morning.” Without looking up, he held up her nightgown. “Looking for this?”
She smiled and crossed the library to retrieve her gown. He looked up and her with a smile. “Frankly, I prefer you without, but we mustn’t ignore propriety.”
Her grin made his cock twitch in his priestly garb. “No, we mustn’t.” Instead of donning the gown, however, she merely tossed it back upon the sofa, awaiting his pleasure.
“I had hoped to find you in bed when I woke up, but I see you are already dressed,” she remarked with a little pout.
He continued to study his little book. “Yes, it’s actually quite a comfortable garment. I’m thinking of changing professions.”
Hermione laughed. “I can just imagine how confession would go.” In a high-pitched whine she mimicked, “‘Bless me, Father Severus, for I have sinned’.” She then switched to a very credible imitation of her husband. “For Merlin’s sake, you dunderhead – what are you telling me for? Get out, and don’t do it again!”
He smirked. “But think of the fun we could have, role-playing as Frollo and Esmeralda.”
“Hphm. You just want to see me doing the dance of the seven veils.”
“Actually that was Salomé, but who am I to argue semantics if you’re willing to give me a strip tease on a regular basis?”
Hermione pretended to be shocked. “And you call yourself a man of the cloth!”
He set his book aside and patted his knee. “Come here,” he purred. Obediently, she sat in his lap and lay against his shoulder with a sigh. She placed a soft kiss against his throat, inhaling his wonderful scent, and he rewarded her with his dark, soft chuckle. “Did you enjoy yourself, pet?”
She grinned in appreciation. “It was a challenge to pretend to be asleep, I’ll admit –”
“It was the fantasy you wanted most to enact,” he said, his voice faintly chiding. “I will remind you of this the next time, my little overachieving Gryffindor.”
She laughed softly; there was no point in arguing, as he was correct. “Still, you were … amazing,” she sighed. “You were sexy as sin in those clerical robes.” His sardonic, raised eyebrow gave lie to the fact that her words pleased him so much. She placed a tender kiss on his temple.
“You missed your calling, Severus. The stage lost a great actor when you chose to live in the Wizarding world.”
He looked smugly pleased with himself. “Your performance as Sleeping Beauty was quite adequate as well.”
He forced himself not to laugh as he heard her give a little sniff of indignation. “Quite adequate? I was trying my best not to scream while my dirty daddy rearranged my psyche.” She pouted. In her best Lucius imitation, she declared, “Sir, you wound me.”
He smirked. “Well, I was trying my best. And I will remind you it was-”
“I know, I know. My idea. I should have known you’d push the envelope until it exploded.” They allowed themselves a quiet chuckle, before Hermione mused, “I wonder what Lucius and Narcissa would say if they knew what debauchery we’d created in Malfoy Manor while they’re away on holiday?”
“‘Bravo’, probably. And ‘Brava’ of course,” he added, feeling her preparing to protest. He pulled her back into his arms comfortably. “In all actuality they’d be a bit jealous. From what I recall of Lucius, he’s remarkably pedestrian. Of course, he might be in for a rude awakening should he try to use that candle.”
Her delighted giggles definitely made his cock sit up and pay attention. “I have to say that little bit of improvisation nearly made me break character,” she grinned mischievously.
His expression was almost boyish in its pleasure. “I did mention payback for your little plug incident, did I not?”
“Be honest, now. You loved it.”
“I do not recall any protestation from you last night either, pet.” For a moment they sat quietly, listening to the fire crackling in the grate. In an uncharacteristically expository mood, he asked, “What was your favourite part?”
“Oh, that’s a question,” she said, her brow furrowed in thought. After pondering for a moment, she brightened. “Probably the part where you charmed a spoon to vibrate and placed it on my clit. That was just before you took my virginity.”
He frowned, and looked at her carefully. “While I can’t honestly claim to have a photographic memory, I’m quite sure I would have remembered that particular part of the evening, my beauty,” he said, his voice silken and dark, and honey-sweet with anticipation.
She grinned mischievously, and with a wave of her wand, she felt the subtle change in her lower region. “That’s because I haven’t told you my fourth fantasy yet.”
The game is my wife. It demands loyalty and responsibility, and it gives me back fulfilment and peace. Michael Jordan
The weak January sun shone through the mullioned windows of the East Wing, casting hundreds of shadows. The area was absolutely heaving with witches and wizards. Standing at the entrance, passing out commemorative programs, were twenty very proud and excited students – five from each House, each chosen for their scholastic excellence.
As a reward for their performance during the first semester, they were the first to tour the brand-spanking new Hogwarts Wizarding War Museum; in turn, they were acting as stewards and ushers to the multitude of dignitaries, luminaries, press and politicians assembled to witness the grand opening of this first exhibit of its kind in Wizarding Britain.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts watched the swelling crowd from the periphery of the assembly area. He had signed off on the final work three days ago, and was now inspecting the final handiwork of the contractors; the large murals over the door of the Museum, depicting the final battle of Hogwarts. Across the huge frame of the door hung a plaque with the words, “Animus, Sapientia, Dolosus, Fidelitas, Diligo – Nunquam Alieno.”
The phrase – ‘Bravery, wisdom, cunning, loyalty, love – Never forget’, was chosen by the students, reflecting the character traits of their respective Houses. The word Love was suggested by Severus himself – the word that encompassed everything about that final victory, and those who had given their lives for the cause of the Light.
Severus gave the long, twisted scar at his throat a rueful scratch. While he no longer thought of it as a horrible disfigurement, he also no longer thought of it as a badge of honour. It was what it was – a war wound. Worse than some, but it beat the shite out of the alternative.
Severus thought of his poor, lost Lily. He had let her go in his heart long ago, but he knew he would always be grateful to her. She and Hermione stood as the bookends to his life. Lily had taught him how to grieve for a lost friendship; Hermione had taught him how to rejoice in finding love. He still sometimes marveled how much his little witch loved him. He looked at the thin, perfect silvery bracelet that snugly adorned his left wrist. He had requested they each wear one of the bracelets, a reminder of this new aspect of their marriage. It had surprised him how much it pleased him to wear it. Already he was planning their next trip to the cave.
He looked around this world he’d helped to shape. Several students passed by and acknowledged him with respect and affection. He saw Hermione chatting with Potter and Weasley as only old friends who have literally been through the wars can do. If he squinted his eyes he could see the eleven year-olds they were when he first met them; too young, brash, green as gillyweed and more trouble than they were worth.
He could still picture Hermione and her untamable hair, her tough love approach to keeping her ‘boys’ out of trouble with passable grades, and her steely, naïve determination to prove herself and be the best at everything. Looking at her now, he remembered those days without guilt. He wanted to kiss each vicious little corkscrew curl on her head and whisk her off to the dungeons. They had some serious detention fantasy time to make up as well.
As he watched them laughing and talking, he felt his old self make a feeble attempt to rear its ugly head. For a moment, in his mind, he was Snivellus again – the mill trash, dirt poor boy with a chip on his shoulder visible to the naked eye, always on the outside looking in. Before the feeling could dig deep enough to snag on the last vestiges of his insecurities, Severus pushed it aside. He knew he no longer had a need for it.
Hermione caught his eye and gave him a private smile he felt all the way down to his boots. The two men flanking her looked up at Severus with friendly smiles and waved him over. From where he stood he could hear the sounds of their laughter and good natured jokes, and found he was not the least bit tempted to involuntarily suspect the laughter was at his expense. He was, after all, a frequent guest at both their houses, and their first-Thursday-every-month poker night with Draco and Lucius was sacrosanct.
He composed his face, approached the Golden Trio, and prepared for the lovefest.
An hour later he stood on the dais in front of the great doors to the Museum and held up a hand for silence. In spite of the number of people present, the hush was immediate and everyone leaned forward to hear Headmaster Snape’s speech. Looking out on the group, Severus realized he’d taught more or less everyone present, and those he hadn’t taught had taught him. With a final glance at his wife, Severus began, his beautiful, beguiling voice commanding the very shadows of the room.
“My dear friends, dignitaries, honoured guests, and students. Thank you for coming today to join us in commemorating one of the most seminal moments in our shared history. This Installation has been the result of many hours of hard work and planning, but sadly, it is nothing more than a gallery of oddities, trinkets and pretty pictures – if the story they tell is allowed to be forgotten. Here at Hogwarts, we pledge to you, Wizarding Britain, to never allow our students to forget the reason this museum is here.
“There were many lost boys who found their way into these hallowed halls. Tom Riddle was one of them. So was Harry Potter, and, if I may say so without sounding immodest, I include myself as well. Hogwarts nurtured us, but it could not protect us from the darkness, and the more insidious clutches of destiny.
“We were denied the loving homes that would have saved us from the lure of evil. Evil found us during our formative years, just as we were looking for answers even this school could not provide. Many children orphaned in the war are already attending Hogwarts this year; we need you to help us guide them for their future happiness, that they may be armed against the temptations that befall them.
“For some, it might be the promise of power; for some, a belief that purity is an aspiration that should be protected against something that ceased to be a threat to our world centuries ago – the acceptance of Muggleborn wizards and witches as viable members of our society.”
Severus looked out at the audience with flashing eyes. “It all comes down to fear, my friends. Fear made me a Death Eater; fear made Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort -” he paused and rolled his eyes as some witches and wizards still winced at the name. “Fear makes you cringe at the name of a Dark Wizard who has been dead for ten years! We can no longer afford to allow our fear to create a door for another Voldemort to waltz through and once more seduce our children with lies!”
The applause was deafening. It vaulted to the ceiling, and Severus held up his hand for quiet. When the room was still, Severus began again, his low voice rolling over their ears like a symphony. It was quiet and darkly beautiful, gently passionate and rich. “This is my home. I am proud of it. I am honoured to steer it into the next millennium, but we alone cannot prevent another Dark Wizard from tainting the minds of our youth. That will start with you, the parents, the community and the world at large. Hogwarts cannot save us; it can only strive to mold and shape us if it is allowed to do so.”
With a nod to Harry and his extended family, he said, “Mr. Potter and I did not join this fight together, but we ended it together.” Severus turned to his wife, whose eyes glistened with tears. He felt his own emotions rising to the surface. “Purebloods, Muggleborns, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Slytherins, I beg of you, remember that we are not so different. We all want the same thing: for our future generations to grow up in a Wizarding world free of prejudice, misinformation and mistrust, so that another Tom Riddle will never gain a foothold in the minds and hearts of our future.
“And when you bring your children here, remind them that the light and the darkness must always co-exist; one cannot live without the other. It is up to them as to which one will rule.” Severus’ voice trembled with emotion. “For myself, I will always choose the light, and it will be my greatest honour to be the torchbearer who brings that light to the students of Hogwarts. Thank you.”
Severus stepped down from the dais to thunderous applause, and walked over to the large multicoloured ribbon that stretched across the door of the Museum. “Mr. Orchid,” Severus called, his voice ringing through the crowd.
The little wizard, who had personally overseen the Installation from start to finish, scurried forward. “Yes, Headmaster Snape?”
Severus’s mouth twitched. “I was hoping that you, as our Museum’s newly named Curator, would do me the honour of cutting the ribbon – seeing as none of this would be here without your hard work and dedication.”
Orchid looked as if he was preparing to faint, scream, cry, or do all at once. “The honour would be all mine, Headmaster!” he squeaked, puffing out his chest until Severus could see the buttons of his waistcoat straining to hold their master in check.
“Then, on my mark, sir,” Severus replied, and turned back to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, I declare this Museum of the Battle of Hogwarts to be open!” Orchid sliced neatly through the ribbon with his wand, and a collective cheer rang through the halls as the doors swung open for the first time to the general public.
In the midst of the general melee, Severus looked over the heads of the crowd until he found his lovely wife. She was crying openly, clapping as though her life depended on it. He made his way to her side and accepted her embrace, returning one of his own. She laughed as he produced a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, love, but I was so proud of you I could hardly breathe.” She looked up at him with eyes brimming with love. “That was beautiful.”
He nodded to her tribute, warmed by her words. “At least it’s done. Perhaps now I can get back to the task of running this school.”
“Well, that will have to wait, Headmaster,” she retorted, nodding at the throng of people lining up to speak to him. “Your public awaits.”
He looked back at the sea of faces looking at him expectantly. He turned to his wife, and gripped her elbow. “You are going nowhere, Madam Snape. I insist you remain here in case the hexes start flying.”
“What hexes?” She smiled, waving across the room to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. “You’re a hero, remember?” To Hermione’s surprise, Severus reached for her hand, and tucked it into the crook of his arm.
His liquid, dark eyes looked into hers imploringly, and he poured every ounce of honey-sweet seduction into his voice. “Then stay by my side if for no other reason than you love me, and I would be lost without you.”
Hermione looked up at his austere, angular face and grinned. The old silver-tongued devil could sell ice to Eskimos. She squeezed his arm reassuringly. “You just try and get rid of me, Severus Snape.”
After the obligatory rounds of well-wishers had shaken their hands and asked questions, Severus and Hermione finally took the opportunity to view the entire Installation. There were moments that made her smile wistfully, such as a tableau depicting Remus Lupin demonstrating the taming of a boggart, and a life-size figure of Luna casting a Patronus in the Dumbledore’s Army display. There was Professor McGonagall, trying to teach the Gryffindors how to dance before the Yule Ball, and Professor Slughorn’s magical hourglass, critiquing the passing hours.
Hagrid had a section dedicated to him, not only as Keeper of Keys and Grounds, and their Care of Magical Creatures Professor, but as one of those who attempted to bring the giants into the alliance. Hagrid stood by the display, proudly signing autographs and having his photo taken with friends old and new.
There was a photo of Hermione, Ron and Harry taken at the beginning of their third year by the late Colin Creevey, whose photos had provided a bounty of visual backdrop for the entire installation. There was a separate alcove dedicated solely to Colin and his photographic history of Hogwarts during the turbulent years before and after Riddle’s resurrection.
The original Order of the Phoenix was featured in a separate display, side by side with photos of the new Order. There were pictures and biographies of the Longbottoms, the Potters, Sirius and Regulus Black. Dumbledore had his own tableau, complete with portrait; it gave Hermione a grim satisfaction that his display was rather indifferently attended. And, of course, the huge wing dedicated to Harry. Flanked on either side were smaller displays dedicated to her and Ron, which pleased and embarrassed Hermione in turns.
“God, why didn’t anyone tell me my hair was such a fright?” she queried, as they walked past a life-sized photo of her in the D.A. casting her otter Patronus.
“We all thought you knew, pet,” Severus intoned, nodding sagely. He was rewarded with a playful swat on his bicep. He scowled at his wife, but his eyes were kind. Suddenly he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it quickly. “As if I would have you any other way.” He tucked her hand in his arm as they continued through the installation.
Hermione’s eyes filled with tears as she passed the photo tribute to all of the casualties of the war. Their birth and death dates were painfully close together: Moody, Tonks, Remus, Vincent Crabbe, Cedric Diggory, Colin, Chastity Burbage, Fred Weasley.
Hermione saw George Weasley and his wife standing by the exhibit featuring the entire Weasley Family. He was proudly showing his son the photo of himself and Fred in Quidditch gear, beater bats in hand, saluting one another as they eternally flew over the Hogwarts pitch.
“Professor, good to see you!” George beamed, shaking Severus’ hand. He turned to the lovely woman by his side. “You remember my wife, Angelina.”
Severus bowed. “Of course, Mrs. Weasley. Née Johnson, I believe.” He gave a nod at the photo. “I seem to recall you were a formidable chaser as well.”
Angelina, a beautiful woman Hermione remembered as being a few years ahead of her in class, smiled at her former professor. “I’m very flattered you remembered me, sir. This,” she said, taking the hand of a little girl with Angelina’s eyes, “is our daughter, Roxanne.”
Roxanne, a lovely child, stared up at Severus as if beholding Zeus. Severus bowed gravely, and said in a warmer version of his impressive voice, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Weasley. I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts soon.” He looked up at George. “I understand her older brother Fred will be joining us next year.”
George looked back at the photo of himself and his twin. Hermione’s heart ached. George had never really been the same after losing Fred. “Next year, yes, sir.” He turned and smiled at Severus. “I will warn you, sir, he’s already living up to his namesake in terms of mischief.”
“Is he ever!” Angelina laughed with her husband. “Like two peas in a pod, these two,” she said, fondly, and George’s smile faded a little. He looked at Severus thoughtfully.
“I’m glad you’re here to teach them, sir.” He looked back at his brother, laughing triumphantly as he volleyed the Bludger back to his unseen opponent. George’s voice was thick with emotion. “I don’t want anyone to forget.”
Severus felt his eyes fill suddenly. He placed a hand on George’s arm. His own voice was slightly unsteady. “They will not be forgotten, Mr. Weasley. I will promise you that.”
Severus was about to leave when he felt a little tug on the bottom of his robe. Young Roxanne was looking up at him expectantly, pulling on his robe to gain his attention. He looked down at her from his stunning height. “Yes, Miss Weasley?”
When she finally got up the courage to speak, it was so soft that Severus could not hear. Raising an eyebrow to Roxanne’s parents, Severus knelt gracefully down. “Now, you must speak up, Miss Weasley. When you come to school, you will be expected to make yourself heard.”
Shyly, she nodded. He said, mildly, “Now, what is it you wish to tell me?”
She took a deep breath, and leaned over, cupping her hand to his ear. His mouth twitched as her silvery little voice whispered her secret. When she had finished, Severus nodded sagely, and to Hermione’s bemusement, Severus turned and whispered something back to the little girl in the same fashion. Her eyes lit up with delight, and as Severus rose to his feet, she looked up at him and giggled, “I won’t, I promise.”
Severus was solemn, but his expression fooled no one, least of all the child. “See that you don’t, Miss Weasley.” With a nod, Severus took Hermione’s hand and they continued their promenade throughout the installation.
Hermione looked up at her husband, nodding here and there to friends and dignitaries. Severus silently counted to eight before she said, “Alright, you know I can’t stand the suspense. What did your little friend tell you that was so secretive?”
Severus smirked. “She merely informed me that ‘Daddy says you are very scary, but I think you are very nice.’”
Hermione grinned. “Did she now? Oh, dear. I have competition, it seems. And how did you answer?”
Severus flicked a minute speck of dust from his sleeve. “I told her that she was correct, that I was an extremely nice person, but that I would prefer she keep that a secret between the two of us, because I didn’t want to make my harridan of a wife jealous and ruin my reputation as a greasy git.”
Hermione grinned. “Heaven forbid.”
He awarded her knuckles with another swift kiss and a flash of a smile. “Indeed, Miss Granger.”
‘Severus Snape: The Reluctant Hero’ display was by far the most popular display in the installation, and it was some time before they could actually get to it. It was truly impressive, from the imposing Death Eater robes and mask standing sentinel in one corner, holding a replica of the Sword of Gryffindor, to the photo of his reinstatement as Hogwarts’ Headmaster, and receiving his Order of Merlin. There were several animated Wizarding photos, including a breathtaking shot of him, broom in hand, swaggering onto the Quidditch pitch to referee a match. Hermione vowed to request a copy of that one. He was sex on legs in that photo.
Several shots were taken of him in DADA class, demonstrating blocking, and one very unexpected photo of him in Potions class, glowering over the cauldron of a very young Hermione Granger. Neither of them could remember the photo being taken and had no idea who had taken it. “It must have been Colin,” Hermione sighed, wistfully. “Poor, dear Colin.”
“You were so young,” Severus mused. He sighed wistfully. “I feel like a dirty old man, after seeing that.”
“A man, most definitely. Dirty, indubitably, but old?” Hermione shook her head, grinning mischievously. “I don’t buy that.” She blushed. “Not after that performance last night.”
“Performance? Do you mean you went to a show and didn’t invite us? I’m hurt,” the voice of Lucius Malfoy drifted over her shoulder, and Hermione turned and kissed the cheeks of her friends. “So, what was the name of this performance that had Hermione so entertained?”
“Don Juan,” Severus replied, dryly, and Hermione blushed. Lucius and Severus raised matching eyebrows, and Hermione laughed.
“Congratulations, Severus,” Narcissa beamed. “The museum is marvelous.” She turned to Hermione. “You must be so proud.”
“I am, Narcissa, thank you.” Hermione returned the smile with a warm smile of her own. She looked at her friends, and waved as Draco and Astoria entered the room. Turning back to Lucius and Narcissa, Hermione added, “I think we all have a lot to be proud of.”
“Yes, well,” Lucius purred lasciviously, “We can’t all have our own little corner of the Museum.” He tried to sound petulant.
Watching him, Hermione laughed shortly. “You can stop twirling your moustache, Lucius.” She looked at him carefully. “You know, I can’t help but think you’re a bit relieved not to have to chronicle those last days before the end.”
Lucius shrugged elegantly, then raised his chin imperceptibly. “Well, as you know, we weren’t exactly playing Happy Families at Malfoy Manor in those dark days.” He looked at Hermione carefully, and something in him changed. They were all thinking of that horrible day Bellatrix tortured Hermione in their home, while they had to helplessly stand by and watch.
Lucius looked from Severus back to Hermione, and the old insouciant mask dropped. Quietly, he said, “Hermione, if I could have stopped her without –”
Narcissa, distressed by her husband’s anguish, quietly pleaded, “Lucius– “
Hermione interrupted soothingly, “No. Not necessary, Lucius. It was a long time ago.” She smiled sadly at the blond couple. “Severus is right; we should remember the past, but look to the future. We have a very special friendship now – that’s all I need. That,” she added, smiling, “and an anti-cheating spell on all our games. You really are the worst cheater in history.”
Lucius’ mouth twitched, and he looked at Severus, then his wife. “I – I do not cheat,” he declared, the picture of Pureblood indignation. His pale face relaxed, and he added with a wink, “I merely look for ways to escape the dreariness of fair play.”
The Hogwarts dungeons were quiet when school was not in session. Most of the faculty had followed the Installation Party down to Hogsmeade, where the Three Broomsticks was playing host to a huge crowd of well-wishers, gate-crashers and the general motley crew of party-goers who love to celebrate, if for no other reason than an excuse to raise a glass.
The Headmaster and his wife were conspicuous by their absence. The dungeons were quiet but for a diminutive figure striding toward the Potions master’s classroom. There was only the briefest of hesitations, then she knocked upon the door.
“Enter,” came the terse reply.
The door opened and the young Gryffindor walked into the room. Upon seeing the dour Potions master at his desk, she swallowed hard. He was a dark sorcerer in black, his teaching robes draped gracefully over his frock coat and trousers. His high collar gave him a courtly air, and his hair curtained over his face, so that his students could never quite tell if he was looking directly at them or not.
For a moment longer, he ignored her, concentrating on an essay before him. Marking the last red ‘X’ on the parchment, he sat it aside and clasped his hands together. “Miss Granger, what is the meaning of your conduct earlier today?”
She ducked her head shyly. “Well, sir, I – “
Her professor stood and moved toward her in that unnerving quickness that always startled her. “You made some very inappropriate remarks concerning me, your professor, in front of several witnesses, did you not?”
She blushed and stammered, “No – well, yes, but I –”
She jumped as slammed his hand down on his desk. “Answer me, girl! What did you say to your little friends today?”
She bowed her head contritely. “I said that I thought you might be happier if you …” she swallowed. “If you got – if you had – “
“I believe your exact quote was, ‘I’ve never known such a tightarse – Merlin, he needs to get laid worse than I do.’” He leaned forward and drawled, “Is this what you said, or have I misquoted you, Miss Granger?”
Hermione blushed. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, sir. I said it. It was very inappropriate and unkind, and I said it out of anger, and I’m sorry.” Her words came out in a rush, making her look even more childishly flustered against his seething, cold anger.
Before she could react, he was standing over her, a black raven, preparing to strike. His voice was deadly quiet. “That is correct, Miss Granger. It was both inappropriate and unkind. And impossibly inaccurate.” She shot him a look of surprise, but before she could reply, he continued frostily, “You leave me no choice but to punish you.” His silken threat made her shiver. “Severely, Miss Granger.”
Suddenly he pointed to a small cauldron sitting on his desk. “Your detention will be served scrubbing cauldrons, Miss Granger. Starting with this one.” He smiled maliciously. “Without magic.”
She stared at him in such shock it was all he could do not to burst out laughing. Instead, he deepened his scowl and gestured impatiently. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s not going to clean itself.”
Hermione gave him an incredulous look, as if waiting for the end of the joke. When he raised his eyebrow in challenge, as if to say, are you disobeying me, pet? She shrugged, picked up the cauldron and headed for the sink.
“No,” he said. She turned to see a bucket of water and a scrub brush appear on his desk. “You will do it here, where I can observe.”
Hermione took a deep breath, nodded uncertainly, and removed her school robe, tossing it on a nearby desk. With a sigh, she dunked the small scrubber into the warm water.
It was a tiny, round-bellied cauldron which sat atop three stubby legs. It was only the size of a soup bowl, the kind housewitches used to make homebrew potions, and it seemed minuscule and out of place here in the classroom. It was caked inside with something that was proving almost impossible to remove. Hermione gave the cauldron a surreptitious sniff, but could not identify what had been baked on the cauldron. It seemed the harder she scrubbed, the more solid the residue became.
As she worked, she felt beads of sweat forming on her forehead, and so intent was she on her task, she did not notice her professor rise from his chair and move to stand behind her.
“Interesting items, cauldrons,” he said, softly, his voice only inches from her ear. He reached past her and cupped the little round belly of the cauldron in his large hand, his touch as intimate as if he were stroking a soft breast instead of hard metal. It was a caress so knowing it made his student blush.
As his fingertips grazed over the surface with a lover’s touch, he intoned silkily, “For those skilled in the subtle art of potion making, they are receptacles of great magic. But they should not be abused. In the wrong hands, they can be ruined beyond use.
“For instance, Miss Granger,” he purred, moving to stand behind her again. “You have forgotten your cauldron-cleaning procedures. I’m very disappointed that, during your time away from brewing, you have forgotten the first, simple step to ensuring a pristine, clean cauldron.”
Hermione gasped as he flicked her skirt up over her back, and knelt down behind her. “An acolyte to the art will first and foremost examine the cauldron carefully.” Long fingers trailed lightly over her bare skin. Hermione’s legs trembled as he pushed her thighs apart. From behind, she could feel his breath against her vulnerable bottom.
“A master of the art will use his senses to discover the secrets of the cauldron.” Hermione was still as a statue as his long pointed tongue slid between her cleft and licked a warm line from top to bottom.
There was a sharp clang as the brush fell from her nerveless fingers into the cauldron. Severus spread the cheeks of her bum apart and lapped at her, teasing her, his tongue flickering from her cunt to her tightly furled hole, causing her to shake helplessly.
He chuckled softly as she clutched his desk. “Sight, taste, scent. These are tools to be used to assess your cauldron.” He rose, ignoring the twin popping of his knees, and wiped the juices of her delicious pussy from his mouth. He slid his arm around her and pressed his heavy, engorged erection against her bare bottom. “And then there is touch, Miss Granger.”
He reached around and found her distended, stiff clitoris, as pointy and hard as a little nipple, bathed in her slick heat. He teased and played with it while she held onto the table, her soft moans and sighs inflaming his already stupendous lust. He pressed down hard and began to rub the little bud intently, and she growled and pushed back against him. “My, my, we are very dirty today, Miss Granger.”
Hermione shuddered as first one, then two fingers slid into her aching core, until she was pinned between his hands, fucking her, teasing and plucking at her clit.
He watched her face intently. “Of course, hands can only clean so much, can they not, Miss Granger?” When she did not reply, he intoned, “Answer me!”
“No, sir!” she gasped, and he turned his hand until she felt him ruthlessly teasing the spongy tissue inside. For a moment, it felt as if she needed to urinate, then the dark, rich pleasure flooded her groin and she knew she would come.
“And why aren’t my hands enough, Miss Granger?”
“W-what?” She mumbled, too caught up in his ministrations. To regain her focus, he spanked her, a hard, sharp slap on her bottom that both startled and excited her.
“Because you’re a dirty little girl who needs my cock, aren’t you? That’s why my hands aren’t enough. Say it.”
Hermione moaned, “I’m a dirty little … gods … oh …” He finger-fucked her mercilessly with hard, driving insistence, in counterpoint to the gentle, teasing fingers of his other hand, which was teasing her clit with maddening, perfect precision. Hermione leaned forward onto the desk, unable to support herself on her trembling legs.
“Say it, girl. Tell me how dirty Daddy’s little girl truly is,” he crooned, and she cried out her pleasure into the room.
“I’m your dirty little girl! Oh, gods, don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
“As if I could,” he growled, pinning her between his large hands, sending her spiraling higher with each stroke, holding her at the top of her peak, never allowing her to let go.
“Oh, no, little one, my hands aren’t enough for a dirty little girl like you,” he hissed, and barked an incantation that removed his clothing. “Only one thing is strong enough to scrub you clean.”
Hermione felt his cock teasing at her entrance, felt his arms around her, pulling her shirt open. He eased her breasts from their confines, and another muttered spell later, and Hermione could see their reflection in a mirror behind his desk. She looked like a complete wanton – breasts pushed up from her clothing, her nipples rock hard.
Severus’ long fingers rolled and tugged her right nipple expertly, and she looked up and caught his eye in the reflection. He was naked, pale and luminous, his eyes glazed with enough inflammatory, carnal lust to melt the mirror into liquid fire. Hermione mewled helplessly as he pushed her down and whispered, “You’re ready to come, baby. Do it,” he breathed, his fingers driving her expertly toward his aim. “Do it for Daddy.”
Hermione screamed as her orgasm burst from her, and it was joined with his answering cry as he thrust into her quivering, rippling pussy. “Merlin wept …” he moaned, and held himself still as her walls shuddered and milked his cock, groaning loudly at the sheer pleasure of feeling her illegally tight cunt melting and pulsing around him.
In the reflection, Hermione watched his face slacken, a smile tickling the corners of his lips, eyes closed. She clenched her muscles around him, and he opened his eyes and sneered at her.
“Oh, yes,” he nodded, his voice ragged and feral, “There’s only one way to scrub you clean.” He pulled back, biting his lip in anticipation, then slammed into her with the force of a battering ram, and Hermione’s cry threatened to shatter the glass jars in the room.
He started slowly, painting her cunt with his large pole of a muscle; long, hard strokes that tapped her cervix and threatened to end her sanity. He laughed as she tried to speed up his maddening pace, and rewarded her with another playful smack on her arse. “Patience, pet. You are mine to clean; I’ll scour your dirty little pussy any way I choose.”
“Please,” Hermione moaned, her fingernails scraping on the desk. “Faster.”
Her throaty cries were incendiary; the primitive part of his brain took over, and he gave over to it, allowed it to drag him toward the inevitable end faster than he wanted. But she felt so good… so good… He began to fuck her hard, fast and deep, pulling her hips back onto his. She would have bruises tomorrow, he would be sore and his knees would ache, and he couldn’t care less. He felt as if he could fuck her forever…
Hermione, insensate with passion, looked up into the mirror. Her husband was beautiful. Head down, eyes closed, he pounded into her, moaning with each breath. “Professor, please,” she begged, “Fuck me harder!”
Suddenly he looked up; his eyes wide, his mouth open in an astonished O of pleasure. He drove into her, churning his hips, corkscrewing her against the desk until she was yowling like a wildcat, and he felt every growl and snarl from his little lioness race down his spine like a livewire attached to his groin. His balls started to spark and tingle; his pelvis felt as if it were melting into a puddle of magma.
His eyes rolled back and he howled. Hermione felt her spine crash into her skull as he slammed into her. Suddenly he gasped, “Merlin… oh fuck… I’m coming… oh yesyesyes… Hermione…” He caught her gaze in the mirror, his expression a mask of intensity. His eyebrows rushed together in a scowl, and he cried out, “Come with me… oh baby… come on Daddy’s cock –”
Severus felt the lava roaring in his veins, and it erupted deep within him, sending him blistering over the edge into an orgasm that threatened to short-circuit his brain into a frayed, shredded mess. It was an orgasm singed with heat and lust, drugged with power and dark as brimstone. He reared above her, growling his pleasure – it was the triumphant roar of a beast, as if his wife had subjugated a demon with her body and this was the proof of it.
She answered with a wail of inarticulate pleasure all her own. Severus felt every milking, pulsing pull of her cunt as it sucked him dry of his lava-hot seed, and he cried out his release, calling her beautiful, dirty names as she wrung every last bit of passion from his body.
He collapsed against his wife, his sweat-drenched body shivering in the cool dungeon air. He could practically see steam rising from Hermione’s uniform. They were panting as if they’d run from the dungeons to the towers, and for several moments neither could speak nor move.
Finally, Hermione’s mind cleared enough to transfigure the desk into a large sofa and together they collapsed on it gratefully. Severus gathered Hermione into his arms and she held onto him for dear life. The aching sweetness of knowing she’d made this strong, self-disciplined man lose control was overwhelming, and she turned in his arms and covered him with soft kisses, until he was laughing at her frantic ministrations and gentling her with a soothing, affectionate kiss of his own.
“I love you so much,” she whispered between kisses, reveling in his flushed face, his glowing eyes. He held her almost suffocatingly close, and Hermione felt as if her heart would burst with happiness.
“Hermione,” he rumbled, his voice sweet and silvery. He placed a tender kiss on her lips, and looked into her eyes. “Don’t ever stop loving me.” To her astonishment, his eyes filled with tears.
“As if I could,” she smiled, pressed her lips against his sternum, as if supplicating an idol. She kissed the tears from his cheeks.
Suddenly he turned her in his arms. “I want to put a child in here,” he said, pressing his large hand to her belly. He looked up at her with complete conviction, and thrilled to see the expression of happiness his words had wrought. “I want us to have children, and when they are old enough, I want to be able to tell them what a goddess their mother is, and how I fell in love with her, and how blessed their father is to have her.” He looked into her face with eyes fervent with longing. “Tell me you want to carry my children. Please.”
Hermione’s face alone would have told him his answer. She threw her arms around him and cried, “Of course I do!” Her face was as radiant as the sun. “We’re going to have amazing babies, Severus!” She was kissing his chest, his neck, anywhere she could reach. She was laughing and calling his name, calling him Daddy, as he engulfed her in his tight embrace.
Her glorious smile was suddenly overshadowed by a look of apprehension. She took his hand, and placed it over her bracelet. “This… these won’t change, will they?” She looked at him searchingly. “I don’t want the love we share, and how we share it, to change.”
He cupped her cheek in his hand, and she leaned against it. “No, pet. I have no desire to change it, either.” He smiled, sloe-eyed and complacent. Long fingers pursed around her nipple and tugged gently. “Just because I wish to be a father, doesn’t mean I won’t continue to be… Daddy.”
Hermione laughed breathlessly, and snuggled against him with a little soft sound of contentment. “You really are a sexy old beast, Master Snape.”
He smirked, and placed a careless kiss on her forehead before drawing her securely into his arms. “Call me old, will you? My, what a very naughty girl,” he drawled. “Another trip to the cave is in order, I see. We must work on the concept of respect. I think you will need to wear a collar for that one.” It gave him a little thrill to see the hot little glow in her eyes at the thought.
He stroked her face and brushed an unruly curl from her forehead. His expression softened. “Thank you for wanting me.”
Hermione grasped his hand and kissed his fingertips. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
He allowed her to kiss him, then grasped her hands and pulled them over her head. The sofa resumed its original shape, and Hermione found herself lying back on his desk.
As the magical bonds tightened around her wrist and pushed her lovely breasts skyward, Severus nuzzled her face with his unspeakable nose and purred, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable, pet.”
Mischief Managed
And now we come to the end. I hope you enjoy the story, and enjoy the Author’s Notes, which explain a lot of things, including some of the actual correspondence between stgulik and me as we hammered out parts of the story. This was a wonderful journey for me. Thank you for coming along for the ride.
As I stated at the beginning, I do not own these characters. Hell, even the original idea wasn’t mine, but I want to thank Subversa, who told me that this was the fourth year she’d asked for this prompt, and I was the first to take her up on it. A true privilege, indeed.
Thanks to stgulik for never giving up, and DMuse for allowing me to take his dictation.
And a special thank you to stgulik, who sent me into hysterics when she said that the phrase I used in an earlier chapter should be the tagline on Severus’ business cards: Severus Snape: I Wouldn’t Get Too Comfortable.
Thank you, Jules, for everything.
Author’s Notes
Here is the original prompt. I hope, Subvers, that I did it justice, and that you enjoyed it:
Severus and Hermione are reasonably happy in their committed relationship, but Hermione senses he’s holding something back – something she needs. Severus has been careful – too careful. She believes that somewhere, he is holding his darker passions in check out of fear of losing the one woman who has loved him.
What Severus doesn’t realize is that Hermione, too, has been keeping a secret – that her true needs can only be satisfied with a surrender of control and the sound of Severus’ voice demanding her total obedience.
Dom!Snape fic. This can be AU or canon compliant through HBP. Can include mental/psychological domination and/or light spanking and/or gentle bondage and/or verbal humiliation with a consenting, desirous Hermione. No bloodplay or involvement of body fluids other than those commonly associated with sex. Snape is a snarky bastard, Hermione is strong-willed and stubborn. Rating R to NC-17. As this will make them both happy, we’ll call it a very Happy Ending®.
Chapter 10 is dedicated to DarkLotus1211, who rescued it from death when the file got corrupted and I was unable to retrieve it. She worked very hard to retrieve it, and kept my momentum going. Thank you.
Chapter 12 has a triple dedication – firstly to Subvers, who loves Regency fics. This was as close to one as I’m capable, I’m afraid! It is also dedicated to my dear beta, Stgulik, who not only gave me the prompt within a prompt for this particular chapter, but also the Jane Austen quote at the beginning, which she dared me to use. Never dare a Southern redneck. She wanted a consequence-free PWP chapter, and I hope it fill the remit. It is also dedicated to Loyd1957 (Cindy) for the best line in a review ever. I told you I would use it one day, and give you credit for it, and I did!
The game “What Say You?” it is actually based on a real Muggle board game called “Loaded Questions”. If you are a true board game fan, this is a winner – it also comes in Junior as well as Adult versions as well. The almighty Hechicera actually made me a real, working version of the What Say You game, complete with all the parts including Recognise-Me-Not quills, ink, game pieces and hundreds of questions. The next time the Malfoys come over, we are soooo playing!
When I was writing this fic, I knew there were two distinct roads I could travel. I could make it very dark and angsty, pulling on the darkness of Severus’ Death Eater past, or I could keep it light and frothy, with occasional forays into angst to give it contrast and balance.
At one point, I was dangerously close to merging the two roads into a dark, ponderous mess, and I had a little crisis of faith. I sent the chapters in question (Chapters 8 and 11) to my beta and all around hero Stgulik, who stated that I was in serious danger of turning this into Dom/sub 101, which, she pointed out, I had already managed in my fic The Sensual World.
I either had to go the whole hog angst deluxe or lighten up. It was just getting too heavy, and as I had already written the first five chapters and was happy with the tone, the fic was starting to sound a bit schizophrenic.
Stgulik, or Jules, as I call her, knew I was approaching a meltdown of sonic proportions, and with typical intelligence and wit, she wrote me an email that was to become the final outline of the story, more or less. So much of the ponderous stuff that I’d thought necessary to explain the lifestyle was discarded on the cutting room floor, and what remained was sufficient to explain everything I was trying to say. Jules will be the first to tell you that I tend to overwrite at the best of times. It is a rare day that she will say, ‘you need to add more to this’.
The following is the transcript of the email that she sent me to help me get back on track. Chapter 8 in particular was tacked to the corkboard on my writing table every day while I wrote this fic, and I’m convinced it helped me to put this story back on track because it made me laugh every time I saw it:
Date: Sat, 18 Jun 2011 15:45:28 -0700
From: stgulik@XXX.XXX
Subject: stgulik’s idea for FF chs 6 – 10
To: teddy_radiator@XXXX.com
Take in the spirit it is meant – from your biggest fan.
* * * * *
Chapter 7
Hr is Portkeyed to the Cave, where they ‘consummate’ this agreement with lots of smutty, kinky sex blah blah.
Chapter 8
That’s where the Chapter between him and Lucius comes in. Once he realises he’s sort of left her alone, he returns to their bedroom, but she’s gone. He goes to the cave, but she’s not there either. He becomes frantic. He asks a house-elf to locate her, and the house-elf sends him back to the Cave. She has gone deep in the recesses because she thinks he has left her and that’s she was the one to screw up the relationship.
When they make up in the cave, it could go like this:
SS: I’m sorry I almost severely hurt you and then left you in a damp cave all alone.
Hr: I forgive you. I’m sorry I made you try this at all – but for your sake, not mine; I still really liked it.
SS: No, don’t be sorry – I finally want to come to terms with my past. I need this.
Hr: I need this too. Don’t worry, we can make this work.
SS: I couldn’t agree more. [Make-up sex – starts normal, ends kinky, everyone’s happy]
{LOL – I told Jules that I was going to write the dialogue verbatim from this exchange. If you read that particular chapter, you’ll see that most of it made it in the final draft, in one way or another :)}
Chapter 9
A whole chapter of guilt-free, smutty sex – if not for your sake, then just for mine! Including (?) a fantasy one of them has never told the other, so we’re all learning it at the same time. She sets the conditions but he is completely dominant over them.
Chapter 10
The ‘ribbon-cutting ceremony’ of the installation, some after-ceremony spanking followed by a hot shag because it was a stressful day? and happily ever after, etc.
As you can see, Jules had my back and the story got back on track and became something I was proud to give to you. I hope you enjoy it for many years to come, as I have so enjoyed your stories.
Words in bold are actual quotes from Deathly Hallows.
To see an awesome facsimile of the game, What Say You?, check out my lovely exchange BINGO prize by hechicera.
Teddy Raye 