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2020-05-17
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2020-05-17
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7/7
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The Slave

Chapter 7: Emancipation

Chapter Text

“You called my name when you were with that p-prostitute,” she said, stumbling over the last word, then mentally pulling herself up. It was time to put those hang-ups behind. Looking at Severus Snape, his body tensed and ready for flight, Hermione felt a longing deep in her belly.

She walked over to where he stood, and leaned close. He smelled dark and metallic, like iron and blood, and it made her nose tingle pleasantly. “Tell me Cassy lied to me. Then make me believe it.”

He was breathing heavily as he took her in his arms, and Hermione waited...


“Is this what you really want?” he growled. “Do you think you can look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow if we carry on this conversation?” He shook his head, his eyes burning with desperation, almost fear. “Because, by the gods, witch, I don’t think I could.”

She knew it was the tattoo; she knew it when her arms went around his neck, and she knew it when he shuddered as her lips touched his. “Then make it right, Severus Snape,” she whispered against his warm, inviting mouth. “Do what it takes so we can look in the mirror tomorrow.”


Severus looked down into her soft brown eyes. They were huge, luminous with desire, and she smelled like a lush garden. He could lose himself in her, and it would be as easy as laying her down on her bed. Her kisses wouldn’t taste of cigarettes and disappointment, her cries of passion wouldn’t be carefully, dispassionately rehearsed. And it would be his name on her lips when her climax came.

So, so easy. And later, when their heads cleared of this blinding fog of lust and desperation, she would despise him more than Lily Potter had ever thought of doing.


He closed his eyes; he could think straight if he didn’t look at her. “I can’t,” he said, ashamed of how ragged and harsh his voice sounded. “And I won’t until you are no longer influenced by that thrice-damned tattoo.”

He felt her soft hands on his face. “Then remove it. Even in the Muggle world, you can have a tattoo removed.”

“I don’t know how.” He risked meeting her gaze. He slumped. “Brackfawn won’t admit to knowing how, either.”

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She was looking up at him with that steely, don’t-tell-me-I-can’t-do-something look on her face. “Oh, really?”


Rob Brackfawn had just chucked out the last straggler when his Floo fired. “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow—”

A creature rushed toward him so quickly he backed into the bar and sent a dozen glasses smashing to the ground. “Brackfawn?” The harpy demanded. “That’s your name, right? And don’t lie!”

He stared in shock. “You! Gods, woman, what are you trying to do, kill me?”

From behind her Severus Snape sauntered out of the Floo. “Not yet, Rob,” he smirked.

He looked from Snape to the girl. Granger, yeah, that was her name. “The bar’s closed,” he began haltingly.


“Screw the bar, you son of a bitch—”

“Hag, actually.”

She turned to Snape, her expression baffled. “Pardon?”

“Son of a hag. His mother’s a hag.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. I forgot.” She paused, and looked at Rob closely. “I’ve never actually met a hag. I mean, is wizard-to-hag mating legal in Britain? Do you only have four toes? I mean, which genetics are more dominant—”

“Oh, fuck’s sake, that’s enough!” Rob shouted. He glowered at them, “My toes are none of your business. If you’re here to insult Mummy then you can just get out of here.”


Hermione looked at Severus, and tried not to laugh. “Mummy?” she echoed. “Does ‘Mummy’ know you’re using hag-wrought magic to imprison wizards, which is considered a class-B offense, punishable by imprisonment?”

“You can’t prove—”

She grabbed a handful of Floo powder and shouted into the flames, “Ephigenia Brackfawn’s hovel!”

“No!” cried Rob, his eyes panic-filled. He pleaded, “Alright. I can’t risk prison. Mummy depends on me.”

“Of course she does,” Hermione answered, her voice sweetly sympathetic. “Now tell Severus how to remove this damned tattoo, or we’ll sell you out to Mummy before you can say Hansel and Gretel.”


In the dawning light, Severus grasped the back of her neck, and pushed her down until she was bent over his kitchen table. She was pliant, but her flesh was hot; the tattoo pulsed with each heartbeat. Arousal slicked his own skin with a sheen of sweat, but he forced it all down, like a drink of bitter wine.

For a moment, he hesitated, and she chanted softly under her breath, “Do it, Severus. Do it, Severus. Do it; do it.”

He touched his wand to the tattoo, and spoke the words. Each word burned his tongue like a brand.

2013-03-03 The Slave, Part 04 - Undoing The Spell

At first, it felt cold, as if Severus had placed ice cubes on her back to freeze the mark from her skin. As he evoked the magic, the cold changed to heat, then to burning. She smelled her skin frying. She cried out, too stunned by the pain to move, gasping, pleading for him to hurry, pleading for him to stop, pleading for this to be over....

Gradually, the burning eased. She heard the clatter of wood as his wand fell from his fingers. A shaking hand touched her, and it was cool. But she could still smell burning flesh.


Severus quaked, and bit his lip as the tattoo vanished from her skin, and arrived on his own. He would not cry out; he deserved it. He’d done this to her. He turned away, weeping in pain.

“Severus?” she said, and gingerly pushed herself upright. “Are you—oh, gods!”

On the small of his back, the tattoo’s circular pattern swirled and pulsed, and tears fell unchecked as he endured the fiery trail it cut beneath his skin. This, it seemed, was the tattoo artist’s secret; a blood tattoo belonged first, last and always to the one whose blood created it.


Severus fell to his knees, blind, deaf and dumb to anything but the fire that etched the mark into his skin. Taking the Dark Mark hadn’t caused this agony. This is my own Dark Mark, he thought. I placed it on her, and now I have to accept the consequences.

He gradually became aware of cool hands on his sweat-soaked brow, and a soft voice gentling him. He heard words that sounded like a spell; Healer’s words, and the pain eased, the burning stopped. “Shh,” the sweet voice soothed. “It’s almost gone now. Just breathe, Severus. I’ve got you now.”

2013-03-03 The Slave, Part 04 - Sympathy for the Devil


It was almost three in the afternoon when he awoke. He’d been dreaming of holding a cuddly toy he’d once had, a soft teddy that his Da had won for him at a local fun fair. He’d often slept with it, until the day he’d come home from playing and found it missing. “You’re too old for sissy rubbish,” was all Toby had to say about it.

He opened his eyes, and idly wondered what Toby would have thought had Severus told him that Teddy Boobear had in fact morphed into a soft, beautiful witch lying asleep in his arms?


They had collapsed onto his sofa once the tattoo had finally, mercifully disappeared from his body. Too exhausted to think, they had fallen asleep almost the moment they became horizontal.

Hermione lay almost on top of him, and though he was parched from thirst, he was loathe to wake her. The compulsion of the tattoo was gone; Brackfawn had sworn on his mum’s remaining tooth that once the mark faded into nothingness, there would be no ownership bond between them at all.

If that was the case, then why did his body stir? Why did he still want her so?


Hermione stirred, and stretched languidly. “Oh, sorry, Severus,” she mumbled, sounding guilty, and with some effort rose from the sofa. They sat upright, staring ahead, muzzy and uncomfortable with one another.

After a moment, Severus cleared his throat. “You know, you are truly free now. You can leave any time you wish.”

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, I suppose.”

She lay her cool hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at her. She was still sleepy and soft and looked even more desirable.

“What if I don’t want to leave yet?”

2013-03-03 The Slave, Part 04 - Changing

Baffled, he blurted, “Why would you want to stay?”

She shrugged. “Curiosity maybe.” Her eyes grew wary. “I could leave, of course. Walk out and never see you again and forget this whole strange little episode in our lives.”

When he didn’t reply, she slid closer. “Or we could see if the attraction between two powerful magical beings is just as strong without a hag-powered compelling tattoo,” she added, with a smirk.

For a moment, Severus’ heart skipped a beat. Or three. “Are you sure?” he asked, hope blooming painfully bright and heavy in his chest. “Don’t play games, Hermione.”


And suddenly he was in her arms and their kisses were as fiery as the magic that had brought them together. Severus head was spinning, but he knew the truth of her.

She had seen him at his worst, petty, vicious, cruel, needy, pathetic, contrite. All his life, she had been witness to him at his worst. And in spite of that, she had taken his crap and played his games, and forgiven him.

As her long legs wrapped around his, his last rational thought was: now, witch, I will show you my best. For the rest of my life.

2013-03-03 The Slave, Part 04 -Forgiveness

Mischief Managed (At Last!)