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“Look what I found!” The mocking, sing-song voice of Bellatrix Lestrange rang out from the din of the battle, and a small group of masked Death Eaters veered away from the ongoing fight, going straight for Hermione and the boys.
Looking desperately around, knowing that this might be it, Hermione swallowed, tugging at the Time-Turner around her throat, like the chain was much too tight, restricting her breathing.
The three of them had been running across the grounds, heading for the Shrieking Shack, while the battle raged all around them, turning Hogwarts into a nightmare. Ahead, the branches of the Whomping Willow were flailing, the tree fighting its own fight, indiscriminately attacking anyone daring to step close enough.
Having just escaped a horde of Dementors, seeing the school in ruins and her friends dying, Hermione felt ragged, like her very soul was torn to pieces by grief and anger, adrenaline and a steely determination to see this through being the only things that kept her going.
Still running, she tried to focus on her task at hand - getting away, escape Bellatrix and the Death Eaters, get to the Shack, take down the next Horcrux - but the horrid images of the battle shot jarringly through her mind:
The desperate flight through the burning Room of Requirement, the roaring Fiendfyre towering like dragons and monsters around them, flames nipping at their heels, threatening to incinerate them, and yet she had managed to snatch a Time-turner from a pile, saving it, knowing that all the others had been lost in time, the glittering gold lying there so innocently on top of a book. Then Fred had died, Lavender was mauled by Greyback, Giants and Acromantulas swarmed the castle, before Dementors had swooped down over the grounds…
Snapping out of the nightmarish visions, she turned her mind to the situation at hand: Bellatrix Lestrange in company of three other Death Eaters, coming straight for them. Assessment: Dire.
With a sinking feeling, she realised that not all three of them would reach the Shrieking Shack - someone would have to fight the oncoming Death Eaters, stalling the attack, and that someone shouldn’t be Harry.
Making a quick decision - it was the only sane solution, she was falling behind the boys anyway - she shouted: “Go on, I’ve got your backs!”
“No!” Harry shouted, turning around, but Ron had evidently come to the same conclusion as herself.
His blue eyes met hers, his face grimacing in bitter sorrow, before he nodded slowly, like they had all the time in the world, like his gaze was a goodbye. Then he propelled himself into action once more, grimly dragging Harry onward, slipping in between the branches, leaving Hermione to make the last stand.
Clutching her wand, she turned, ready to face the onslaught.
“You still have your pretty scars, little Mudblood?” Bellatrix asked, her voice cloyingly sweet.
Through the sweat of the battle, Hermione felt an icy cold creep up on her, making her skin clammy. The fear and desperation of the ongoing battle, her past helplessness under Bellatrix’ wand, the horrible pain and torture the woman had caused her to feel - it all combined to a churning anxiety in her guts, making her feel nauseous, weak and small. Somewhere in her mind, there was a tiny voice crying: Please, please don’t let her hurt me again. Please, make it stop. Please, don’t.
Squaring her shoulders, Hermione took the duelling stance. This was not the time to listen to fear. This was survival, and no House-Elf would miraculously appear to save the day. This was all up to her. Hermione Granger had to buy Harry and Ron enough time to try to kill Nagini in the Shack, and there was no one else but her to face their enemies.
Gathering her magic, focusing her strength, she cried “Expulso!”
The blue light left her wand, streaking towards the group of four Death Eaters, growing like an expanding bubble designed to encompass them, but one of them raised a Shield, a blindingly white Protego hovering around them, making her Curse slide around the four.
“Very good,” Bellatrix shouted, “for a Mudblood, that is.” That made the three other Death Eaters howl in derisive laughter, but then the barrage started.
Curses rained at Hermione, making it so hard to dodge and Shield, that she barely was able to launch her own attacks.
Still, she made one of their Curses, an unknown, vicious grey smog-like thing, ricochet off her Shield, bouncing back to envelop its caster.
The man screamed, a pitiful, thin wail, before he crumpled on the ground, lying still and lifeless. One of the other Death Eaters cried out, kneeling beside the man, clutching the body to her, rocking back and forth.
“Leave him, you fool, you won’t get your brother back, Alecto!” the largest of the Death Eaters snarled, a big, burly fellow, trying to drag the woman off her dead brother to turn her back into the battle.
His momentary distraction allowed Hermione to slip a silent Reductor through his Shield, her aim straight and true. Momentarily squeezing her eyes shut, sick and horrified at the sound of the impact - a thunderclap, the explosion ringing in her ears, and now she had killed, killed in cold blood - she barely danced away from Bellatrix’ incoming ink-black Transmogrifian Curse.
Opening her eyes, she knew she’d never forget the outlined dust motes of the male Death Eater blowing away on the wind, having been reduced to ashes by her Curse.
Alecto Carrow screamed, scrambling to her feet, running for cover, her hands over her head as she scampered towards the castle, never looking back at the fight.
“The Mudblood has claws,” Bellatrix hissed, advancing on her, throwing sickly yellow, bright red and blue lightning strikes at her. “Never mind the others, I’ll catch you, keep you, we’ll rape you and torture you, until all you know is how to crawl at the feet of your betters!”
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” Hermione growled, “but you won’t win, not this time.”
“Again with the hero-posing, next you’ll tell me that I have to go through you, is that it? To get the itty-bitty Potter boy? The Great Mudblood saving the day?” Bellatrix taunted, her wand outstretched and unwavering, though Hermione could see that her pale arms were scratched and bloody from previous fighting.
The insane glint in her dark eyes made Hermione feel better, oddly enough.
This wasn’t a sane person. She hadn’t tortured Hermione and other people out of cool calculation and rational decisions, it was mere whims and uncontrollable rage flitting through a broken mind. Taking out Bellatrix and other Death Eaters in battle wasn’t wrong, it would never be wrong, because the world did need saving, and all it was to Hermione was a duty. Save the world, save Harry and Ron, save Hogwarts. It was as easy as that, and she’d be doing the world a service.
Her mind suddenly clear, like she knew the path forward, she smiled at Bellatrix.
Trying to steady her wand arm, though all the adrenaline in the world was thumping through her veins, making her hand shake at the thought of using that spell, Hermione said blithely: “Oh no, I’m here to put you down like a rabid dog.”
The woman shrieked, blasting a sinister red Curse towards Hermione, the insides of it flickering black like molten rocks in a lava flow, but Hermione stepped quickly aside, the Curse careening into the Whomping Willow, making a part of the tree burst into flames, burning with a sinister white light.
Bellatrix’ eyes narrowed, and suddenly, she stopped, surprising Hermione. Her mouth widened in a grin, sharpened teeth showing, as she crooned: “What’s that, love, is that really a Time-turner around your neck?”
Hermione blinked, but advanced on Bellatrix, her vine wand held at chest height.
“That’s what I thought,” Bellatrix purred, eyeing her, a truly disturbing, manic expression on her face, before she shouted: “Iginis Tempus Praeterita!”
Hermione barely managed to shout “Avada Kedavra!” in return, but there wasn’t time nor space to counter or dodge Bellatrix’ Curse.
The green light shot from her wand, but Hermione was already enveloped in an oddly cool, golden mist. As something seemed to seep into her heart, her mind, her entire body, twirling her into a dizzying spin, she saw Bellatrix fall to the ground like a broken doll - and all went black, like she was sucked into a hole.
Xxxx
She was spinning for a long time, like the firmament itself was spinning with her, swirling stars being born and disappearing into black holes, the winds of Untime screaming in her ears, thrumming through her soul, but the golden mist kept her safe from the ravages of the nothingness.
With a sinking feeling, Hermione realised that she must have been sent further back in time than the usual hours. Instead, this must be a Travel set to go years and years back.
Suddenly, she was spit out, landing on the ground, the impact a loud thump, everything still spinning around her, making her grasp at soft tufts of grass to anchor herself. Above her, the sky was starry, and in the distance, the peaceful lights of nighttime Hogwarts winked in the darkness.
A shadow bent over her, making her scramble up. A deep, terrifyingly familiar voice said: “Student out of bounds, I suppose? And by the look and … quite distinct … stink of you, you’ve been cavorting in the mud for hours.”
Battle-fuelled rage and terror still pumping through her veins, she snarled: “You traitor! Murderer and scum! I’ll take you down for what you did to Dumbledore! I hope your true master will turn on you too, you absolute arse, and kill you like the vermin you are!”
Severus Snape gasped, and as he took a step back, his black wand came out, though the point wavered slightly, like he wasn’t sure he should attack her.
Hermione was on her feet, drawing her own wand, and then moonlight fell on his face. It was indeed Severus Snape, but he was young, much younger than she had ever seen him.
He took in her face and her clothes too, and his brow furrowed. “You’re not a student,” he said slowly.
“And whose fault is that?” she hissed, anger still heating her up, like a lava eruption that couldn’t be held back, “you, and your Death Eater cronies!”
He straightened, shooting his most imposing glare at her, before he stiffly said: “I’d have you know that I was never convicted. This is libel, and if you spread such rumours I can and will go after you, and…”
“How old are you?” Hermione scoffed, looking at him. “Did you turn yet, that is, pretending to turn, fooling Dumbledore through the years, and…”
“You speak as if you would know the future,” he sneered, “rambling accusations like any other drunk Seer…”
“I’m no Seer, “she said coldly, raising her chin haughtily.
It was somewhat ironic, but she found herself just as upset at being named a Seer as he was at being called out as a Death Eater. The only difference was that she was right and he was not.
Continuing, narrowing her eyes as a thought struck her - what if she could kill Severus Snape, how would the future turn out? - she said icily: “I know what you are, and I know what you’ll do. You, Severus Snape, will betray us all to the detriment of the world.”
The idea of attacking Snape had never entered her mind before. She knew he was powerful, a skilled and vicious dueller, but this was an obviously younger Snape, so maybe he wasn’t that accomplished as his older self. And she had just killed Bellatrix Lestrange. Wasn’t that proof of her own skill?
“Will I,” he hissed, looking furious, “as if you would know anything at all about me, girl!”
“I know all that I need to know,” she countered, raising her wand slowly. “I know you’ll pretend, I know you’ll ingratiate yourself into the Order, and I know how it ends. You, Severus Snape, must be stopped.”
Launching a wordless Expulso, it exploded silently in his Shield, the blinding light of the Protego raised faster than she had ever seen.
He struck back, quick as a whip, trying to Stun her, but she blocked it, trying to throw his own spell back at him. He quickly stepped aside, before attempting a Full Body-Bind: “ Petrificus Totalus! ”
Hermione rolled her eyes, her own Protego sending the spell careening into the woods, before casting the Blasting Curse: “Confringo!”
His eyes widened, throwing all his strength into his Shield, barely holding the Curse away, his Shield wavering and wobbling underneath the power of her spell, and he mumbled hoarsely: “You really mean this, do you?”
“I do,” she said sweetly, lobbing a mix of Expelliarmus, the Leg-Locker and Ear-Shrivelling Curses at him, before throwing an underhand Bat-Bogey.
He was swearing softly, countering her Curses and Hexes with Shields and Deflector spells, and she was so pleased by having Severus Snape at her mercy that she never saw the small quirk to his mouth and the silent, invisible Incarcerous coming for her.
As the ropes snaked around her body, tying her up, she was no match for the Stunner hitting her square in the head.
Xxxx
Waking up, she first noticed the mad throbbing in her head. Trying to move her arms, she discovered that she was still tied up.
She was lying on the floor, the ceiling above covered in chipped plaster, and the room around her was sparsely furnished, apart from book shelves filled to the brim, groaning under the weight of far too many books.
Wincing, she tried to sit up, only to flop back down. “This isn’t Hogwarts,” she mumbled to herself.
“How observant,” Severus Snape drawled, rising from a chair nearby.
“Where am I?” she asked tiredly, noting that he had her wand tucked safely in his sleeve, the ornately carved vine tip peeking out by his wrist.
“In my home, Spinner’s End in Cokeworth,” he said calmly, looking down at her. “I can’t have you running around spreading such lies. My reputation is bad enough as it is, and this… Well, until you promise to not throw such accusations around, I’ll be keeping you here.”
“As a prisoner,” she said bitterly. “Are you going to feed me, or will I starve to death under your care ?” Her sneer must have been audible, because Snape flinched.
Looking at him, she guessed he had to be in his early twenties. He was thinner than she remembered, his face less lined, but the harsh features on his face and the greasy hair was the same, as was his clothing.
With a fleeting sense of disgust, she forced down the memory of her own little crush on him. Was that only a year ago? She had been attracted to his knowledge, his effortless command of spells and brewing alike, and his voice had made shivers run down her spine, causing her to frig herself more than one night behind the curtains of her four-poster bed. And then he had proven himself to be the vilest of traitors, turning everything she had felt into something wrong, a lie, a dark, disgusting secret.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, before he laughed mirthlessly. “Believe me, girl, I wasn’t looking to take any prisoner as I did my rounds on the Hogwarts' grounds tonight. I don’t particularly want to be saddled with a grimy young witch threatening to kill me, but I’m not going to allow you to destroy my life even more than it already has been either.”
She bared her teeth at him, but decided not to provoke him further. Better wait, she told herself, make him complacent, and then you can make your escape. This should be sometime in the eighties, and I need to go back, to join the battle again…
And then it hit her. It wouldn’t be possible, and nothing would be the same. Either she would have to live in the past, up to the point of the battle or she’d age the same amount of years if she returned by Time-turner.
Whatever she chose, she’d never return as the eighteen year old Hermione Granger to the battle. If she returned by Time-turner, she’d deprive herself of years of her life - years and years unlived - returning to her friends as an adult witch, while they still were teenagers.
Weakly, fighting the sudden rush of tears that threatened to break free, she asked: “What year is it?”
“1983,” Snape said carefully, watching her carefully like she was an Erumpent fluid about to blow.
“Oh,” she whimpered. Fifteen years? She’d be 33 to Harry and Ron’s seventeen and eighteen? She’d be a young witch in an adult body, and how would that affect her life?
They both fell silent. Thoughts flitted through her head - possibilities, impossibilities, opportunities lost and maybe even found - before she drew a ragged sigh. It would be better staying here, trying to change things, to give the future a better chance of survival, even though it meant that she’d be picking apart the future as she knew it. She could…
Snape interrupted her musings, by saying the one thing she had never expected from her Professor. “You really need a shower, and I will watch.”
Xxxx
Naked and shivering, she stood under the cold spray in Severus Snape’s tub. Grime and muck sluiced from her skin and hair, and privately, she thought that she had never been this dirty in her life.
The younger version of her Professor leaned against the wall, watching her closely, his eyes hooded. He had explained that he thought she’d try to escape - which he was right to believe, she admitted to herself - and also that he wouldn’t let her into his chairs, sofa or in a bed while being this filthy. The horror in the glance he had sent her way as he pointed out that she was covered in soot, dust and mud, proved that he was of the fastidious sort. Remembering the spotless dungeon classroom, she could well imagine that Snape preferred his home to be clean.
Now, however, she rather suspected that he also enjoyed watching the naked girl in his tub a little too much, seeing as he was nearly leering at her. His eyes were trained on her, sliding from her hips, to her waist, her breast and down to her crotch, and she tried to hide as much as she could.
Still, the way his breath hitched as she soaped in her breasts and thighs was a telltale: Severus Snape was watching and he liked what he saw. An illicit tingle went through her, reminiscent of her old crush, but she forced it down grimly, reminding herself just how reprehensible a human being Severus Snape had proved to be.
While shampooing her hair, she had to raise her hands, working the shampoo into her scalp, and through the spray, she saw that Snape’s eyes were glittering, his expression hungry as his gaze roamed her body, his eyes chasing the droplets sliding over her breasts.
Making quick work of it, trying to minimise the time spent naked under his gaze - he was a Death Eater, one could but wonder what they did to prisoners and she didn’t want to give him any ideas - she stepped out of the tub, snatching a too-small towel to tie around her body. It barely reached the bottom of her arse, but it was better than nothing.
“Where are my clothes?” she demanded, looking about in the small bathroom, because her clothes certainly weren’t where she had left them.
“I Vanished them,” he said casually with a smirk. “It’s harder to escape when naked.”
With a groan, she smacked her forehead, but then the towel slipped, and Snape’s smirk broadened into a too-wide grin.
She huffed, and he quickly schooled his face into the blank expression she was familiar with from her older Professor, before he said: “ I’ll put the kettle on.”
Xxxx
Sitting in his cramped kitchen, the table a faded floral-patterned blue formica, she sniffed the tea with suspicion.
“I haven’t laced it with anything,” he said arrogantly, “you saw me brew it.”
“I don’t know, you might have snuck something in between the tea leaves,” she grumbled, “it might be anything, considering you made it.”
Snape rolled his eyes, before demonstratively taking a sip from his own mug. “See?” he said, one eyebrow arched, “not poisoned at all.”
With a huff, she took a small sip. It was surprisingly good, but then again, she supposed someone like Snape would always take great care when brewing anything, even if it was something as mundane as tea.
After a while, he said carefully: “I take it you … actually came from the future?”
“I did,” she confirmed slowly. “And I’m going to change things, so don’t bother asking me what will happen.”
Vindictively, she smiled, knowing that she had broken rule number one when Time-travelling. McGonagall’s dry voice rang in her ears, just like it had been when she was in her third year, receiving her Time-turner: Never be seen, never make yourself known. The fact that you’re Time-travelling is unmentionable.
His eyes widened at that, before he replied, his voice very quiet: “Is the future really so horrible that you’d risk unravelling time?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice oddly calm, not revealing the chaos raging inside her. “It is, and you are a major cause for that, Severus Snape.”
Desperately, he said: “I can’t be, not … not after what happened.” His dark eyes looked pleadingly at her, like he wanted her to admit that somehow, she was in the wrong.
Hermione shrugged, enjoying his distress, and a small, callous smile played on her lips. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, but I can tell you that you’ll help start the Second Wizarding War, and we’ll all be worse off for it.”
Stricken, he shook his head. “But you see, I can’t,” he almost whispered. “I took a Vow, if I did that, I’d be … dead.”
“Well, unfortunately you were alive and kicking,” Hermione said, looking curiously at him. He seemed earnest, like this meant something to him, deeply, but really, it didn’t matter. What had happened in the future, had happened - but her job would be to stop it, to un-make the future.
He shook his head, pushing his left sleeve back. “See this?” he demanded, pointing at a thin, red scar around his wrist. “This is the Unbreakable Vow I gave Dumbledore. I’m following his orders, and Merlin forbid, if You-Know-Who ever returns, I’m doing exactly what Dumbledore tells me to do, nothing else. Or … my life is forfeit.”
Hermione snorted. “You killed Dumbledore in the future, so maybe that nullified it.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “that wouldn’t be possible. There is no work-around for an Unbreakable Vow, that’s why it’s Unbreakable. If I killed Dumbledore, it must have been on his orders.”
Hermione swallowed. She very well knew that he spoke the truth about the Vow, so… unless Dumbledore had absolved him of his oath, this might be true. Before he had killed the Headmaster, she had always thought him to be on their side, trusting in Dumbledore, and even though she didn’t want to believe him now, his words struck her as truth.
Harshly, she said: “You could be lying. There was no such Vow to Dumbledore, was there?”
He grimaced, before pulling his wand, muttering: “Legilimens. ”
Instead of the intrusion she expected, a barrage of images flooded her:
Snape begging forgiveness, Snape promising, Dumbledore making him take that Vow, and…
The images seemed to burn on her retina for a long time after he pulled out of her mind. Swallowing, she looked down at the matted formica tabletop. This … was nothing like what she had believed. This was…
“You see,” he said, his voice almost broken, “it can’t be so.”
Still reeling from the sudden shift in perspective, like the world had just flipped upside-down, she couldn’t stop tears from dripping down her cheeks, turning into an unstoppable torrent.
Almost too quickly, another thought shimmered into existence: how much had Severus Snape sacrificed, everyone believing him to be a traitor, a Death Eater, the Dark Lord’s right hand man - he must have suffered too, as much as everyone else, or even worse, without no comfort in companionship.
With a small hiccup, not wanting to meet his eyes, she mumbled: “I’d like to sleep now.”
Silently, he rose, giving her a hand as she rose, like he wanted to steady her.
“The bedroom is upstairs,” he said, his deep voice almost soothing.
Xxxx
Still naked, she crept under the sheets, still crying.
To her shock and surprise, Snape undressed too, down to his far-too-short boxer trunks, before climbing into the bed with her. In a glimpse, she spotted the heavy bulge between his legs, and she sucked in a breath.
“You’re not…properly dressed!” she squeaked, waving between the two of them, not quite having the guts to ask if he meant to do something to her. Assault, rape , like Bellatrix had threatened her with in the hands of Death Eaters. While she now was convinced that Snape was no Death Eater, he was still a stranger, a young man in bed with a young naked girl.
What he answered was something else entirely, and he huffed: “Dressed? I wasn’t planning on sleeping here, I didn’t bring any pyjamas. I’m not letting you escape just yet.”
Exhausted, she sank back, not bothering to argue that he could easily have Conjured sleepwear for them both, but those annoying tears were still flowing. Such petty details as clothes seemed unimportant compared to her lost future, her lost friends, the mistakes made and the lost opportunities, the battle memories of people dead, hurt and dying, plus Severus Snape’s future suffering, and…
Suddenly, he dragged her over to him, tucking her into his chest, patting her head awkwardly. “Hey, girl… I know I’m not much for comfort, but … Maybe it’ll be alright, in time. Maybe we can stop this future from happening.”
Lying completely still in shock, her head resting on his pale chest with a smattering of dark hair - something that would be almost a dream come true, had it only happened last year - it took a long time before she slowly drew a breath. He smelled good, a little spicy and with the scent of freshly mowed grass, and somehow, she had always known he’d smell like this.
He was well-built, with a strong chest, though he was more wiry than muscled, and she couldn’t help nuzzling into the smooth skin under her cheek, the hairs tickling her slightly.
She felt him sigh, still stroking her hair, running his fingers gently through the tangles left by her quick shower, before he asked: “You said … you didn’t finish your schooling because of me. How … old are you? Should you still be in school?”
Huffing, she told him: “Yes. If the world had been normal, I should’ve taken my NEWTs in a month.”
He stiffened, but all he said was: “Nearly finished, then.”
“I should be. I haven’t been to Hogwarts all year, because of…” she paused, not sure how much to tell him, but then it hit her again: It was possible to change everything. Whatever she told him, it wouldn’t matter. Any change would be better than what had happened. She came back armed with knowledge, and yes, she could…
“Me,” he finished, sounding more than a little bitter. Then he ventured a question: “I .. am still at Hogwarts? Was I your Professor?”
She raised her head, looking thoughtfully at him, before deciding to answer truthfully. “Yes, you were my Potions Professor for five years, and then my Defence Professor. Over the last year, you’ve been the Headmaster. Under Voldemort’s reign.”
He sucked in a breath, eyes wide and shocked, before pushing her away. “That’s … He really did return?”
“He did,” she answered grimly. “And for all appearances, you’re his right hand man.”
Severus Snape groaned, and he flung a hand over his face, fingers forming claws around his brow like he wanted to pull out his own brain.
Hermione said gently: “I’m sorry. You were very convincing, and… I believed it. You should know, I was very disappointed though, I thought you were on our side. Before you killed Dumbledore. But now, I’ll change whatever I can. I don’t want this future to happen. I … don’t want you to experience that future either.”
Breathing harshly through his nose, he muttered: “I’ll help. Whatever it takes, I’ll help to not end up … like that. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my Vow to Dumbledore.”
“Good,” she said, smiling at him. “It’ll be good to have a powerful ally.”
“As for that,” he said, side-eyeing her, “I’m your Professor. We … really shouldn’t be in the same bed. I’ll …”
At that, Hermione shrugged. So what - he had already seen her naked, hadn’t he? And besides, after his awkward attempt at comforting her, she felt curiously safe. This man wouldn’t harm her.
“I don’t mind,” she said, before adding with a small smile: “Professor Snape, Sir.”
“I’ll have you know, I never … with any student,” he said stiffly.
“I know,” she said softly, “I can assure you there were never any rumours about you in that way.”
He relaxed, and there was a minute softening around his mouth, and then, for some silly reason, she felt compelled to add: “That doesn’t mean that there weren’t any students hoping for that, though … Sir.”
He glanced quickly at her, and spots of colour suddenly bloomed in his cheeks, like he was embarrassed. Somehow, she thought that he forced himself to hold her gaze, not letting his eyes slide over her bare shoulders and the top of her chest, and then he asked, his voice suddenly a little rough: “Were you … one of them?”
It was as if the spinning of the earth came to a standstill.
Hermione knew that her answer was important, but she didn’t know what would happen if she denied it, or if she admitted to it. Would he throw her out if she said yes, would he push her away if she said no, or…?
Throwing all caution to the wind, she said, her voice wavering slightly: “Yes.”
For a moment, she thought he’d just turn around, never acknowledging what she had admitted to, because his face remained as blank and expressionless as it had ever been.
But then his hand shot out, and he dragged her closer again, whispering: “It’s… not the same as with a student, is it? I’ve never known you as my student, and you…”
His beak of a nose trailed over her cheek, before his mouth landed on hers.
At first, it was an uneven pressure at her mouth, like his lips were hard, unused to kissing, but then she opened her mouth, gasping into his kiss, countering his advance with her own, her tongue trailing over his lips, meeting his, entwining, before the kiss grew in intensity.
With a deep groan, he grabbed her shoulders, leaning over her, pressing her into the mattress, devouring her mouth, leaving her breathless and mewling. Against her bare thigh, she felt him - hot and hard, straining behind the fabric of his underwear, and a hard jolt flew through her, like a shot of lightning bliss. He wanted her!
Scattered thoughts flew through her brain - still, this was mad, surely, acting on her half-forgotten crush like this, or maybe it was battle-lust, a need to feel alive after all the danger, but no, there was also him, the man she had wanted, and he wanted her, and…
“Stop thinking,” he growled, his mouth moving over her skin, trailing over the sensitive spots under her jaw, working gradually down her throat, “I can hear it, and … just enjoy, don’t overthink everything, girl, just feel.”
Hermione knew that he was right - thinking too much never led to the crowning bliss of an orgasm - but something hot shot through her belly as he told her what to do. Was that it? Did she want him to command her, like he had always done in the classroom?
And before she knew it, she gasped: “Yes Sir, I’ll do what you say, Professor Snape.”
That made him stop short, and he raised his head, looking at her with glittering black eyes, though the corner of his mouth tugged as if he wanted to smile.
“Is that it?” he said, his voice a deep rumble, “is that how you want it?”
A flush spread over her chest and neck, but she had put the cards on the table. “Yes,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “I want …that, Professor.”
He looked thoughtfully at her, before he said clippedly: “Arms above your head, Miss…”
“Granger, Sir,” she muttered, stretching her arms over her head.
“Good, Miss Granger,” he crooned, and ropes appeared, tying her wrists together. “You will take everything as I see fit, won’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hermione said, her heart hammering in her chest. Deep in her belly, there was a simmering heat, like the tickling ache of a void, needing something to fill it up.
“Good girl,” he said, lowering his head to her chest, licking a stripe down to the nipple of her left breast. A hand roughly kneaded her right breast, while his tongue laved teasingly around the other, making her gasp and writhe every time he flicked over her aching bud.
The spot between her legs seemed to have developed its own pulse, demanding attention, and Hermione knew she was soaked, slick dripping from her opening, coating her nether lips.
“Please,” she gasped, “please…”
“Please what?” he said.
“Please, Sir, touch me,” she whimpered. Never had she been this aroused - but then again, she had never had her late-night fantasies come true either.
He moved up, whispering hotly in her ear: “It is not up to you to make decisions here, Miss Granger. I decide what happens, did you forget that?”
“No, Sir,” she mumbled, squirming as if her own thighs could bring her some relief, “you’re in charge.”
“Quite right, Miss Granger,” he said hoarsely, like her acquiescence affected him too. With a grunt, he flipped her over, her face landing smothered in his pillows, and she turned her head to allow herself to breathe.
His hands ran down her side, grasping her hips, before stroking her buttocks, light touches like butterfly wings, making her shiver in anticipation, before he swatted her hard on the rump.
“For being such an obstinate student,” he said, his voice rough, before he smacked her again: “For not doing as you’re told.”
Heat seemed to travel like a flash flood through her veins, from the redness spreading in the skin of her arse to her front, making her groan.
“For trying to take control,” he growled, swatting her harder, making her whimper in a confusing mix of pain and need. “And…” his hand came down in a succession of hard, hard smacks, “for being such a temptress, making me … break … my … vow … as … your… Professor!”
Hermione cried out, her pulse galloping, but then he was soothing the sting in her skin, caressing her arse, before his fingers slipped down the crack of her buttocks, finding the drenched wetness between her legs.
His breath hitched behind her, and she moaned pitifully and jerked in a sudden surge of almost-bliss as his finger flicked over her needy clit, teasing the nub, making her arch up to get more of that delicious feeling, her orgasm looming in enormity on the horizon like a thundercloud rolling in.
“I’m going to give it to you,” he muttered, “so hard, and you’ll take it all, won’t you?”
Behind her, she could hear him fumbling with his own clothes with one hand, though the other never left her nub.
“Yes, please, use me as you wish,” she squealed, chasing the feeling, wanting more - more - more, but then he removed his hand, grabbing her hips with both hands to raise her up.
Confused disappointment was first and foremost on her mind - why had he stopped, she was so close - and it was at the moment when she felt the hot, hard head of him poking blindly through her soaked folds that she remembered:
She should probably tell him that she had never done this before.
But there was no time, he was already notching the tip in her opening, pressing in. It burned slightly, stretching her out, as the wide mushroom head pushed her walls apart.
“Gods, you’re tight … and wet!” he muttered, but the relentless pressure continued, the wide girth sliding slowly inside her slick opening.
Hermione panted, her cheek still pressed against the pillow, her bound hands stretched out. He must be very large, she thought, and the idea of it sent a jolt through her, like a sizzling flame growing. The shaft felt smooth, though there was something ridged underneath, like a hard vein protruding, but she was so full, so completely filled up, that she only managed to breathe, not saying a word, as he finally bottomed in her.
“Fuck,” he swore, his hands digging hard into her hips as he leaned over her back, “fuck, this… I’m not going to last long, girl, this…” His words tapered off in a mumble of “slick, hot, tight.”
“Please,” Hermione gasped, her nub still throbbing in need, “please, touch me!”
“It’ll be my pleasure, Miss Granger,” he chuckled, and the rumble seemed to resonate through her back and torso, making her nipples chafe deliciously against the sheets underneath.
A long-fingered hand snaked around her hip, finding her nub, flicking it, as his other fingers seemed to explore just how wide her hole was stretched around his cock.
All thoughts were now gone, and as he pulled out before ramming in again, she could barely moan. The stretch, the delicious feel of his fingers circling her clit as overwhelming her, making her feel as if she was running towards an abyss, waiting for her feet to scramble, lose their foothold, to skid as she lost her balance …
He was pounding into her by now, deep grunts coming with every smack of his hips against the soft, sore flesh of her arse, and then he growled: “Come for me, Miss Granger, come for me, you little slut, needing your Professor’s cock so badly, come, before I fill you up!”
… and at his command, she hurtled into the abyss, white light flashing in her vision as if a storm broke, her body arching to get him even deeper inside as she trembled, clenched and shook around his thick cock, wanting more, wanting this to last forever, to soar and flutter, speared on his shaft into dark eternity.
“Miss … Granger!” he shouted, “take it, take it all!” Through the haze of her own bliss, she felt him jerk inside her, pulse and throb, and with a choked wail, she knew Professor Snape spent himself in her, making her take him raw, giving her no choice - exactly like she wanted it.
He fell over her back, lying heavily on top of her, breathing hard, and she could feel both his and her own heart slow down, like they were beating in tandem after their mutual ecstasy.
“Outstanding,” he mumbled with a small chuckle, “just … outstanding,” before he rolled off her, pulling her into his chest again.
She couldn’t help feeling a small flicker of pleasure at that, resting her head on his shoulder, but the daze of the afterglow prevented another flare of desire.
“I didn’t do much,” she countered, “I just .. obeyed.”
“Yeah, and that was .. marvellous,” he said with a care-free laugh, an expression she’d never seen on his normally stern face before. “I never thought I’d indulge in that kind of roleplay - it’s sort of wrong, isn’t it, me being an actual Professor, and to be frank, students in general are an unappealing lot.”
“Hey,” she said, swatting his chest lightly, “I was a student, remember?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” he crowed, “I can’t remember. No guilt, no recriminations. Just … pure, naughty bliss.”
“I can imagine,” she said with a small snort, “deflowering your virgin student that isn’t a student.”
He stilled, before he said carefully: “I thought you might be when I penetrated you, but… you seemed to enjoy it. A lot. Are you in any pain?”
Taking a moment to feel her body - sort through the aches and pains after the battle - Hermione shook her head. “No, I might be sore, I guess, but no. No pain. It was just as I had hoped for.”
“Good,” he said. For a while, they were quiet, hands stroking idly, caressing the other’s body, feeling their bodies cool under the sheets. Though the feeling was strange and unfamiliar, there was something primal in her enjoying the sensation of his seed dribbling from her, coating her thighs and creating a wet spot on the sheet.
Drowsiness settled in, and Hermione almost yawned as he asked: “What now?”
“Now?” she responded. “You mean tomorrow?”
“Yes, and all the days thereafter,” he said, like the last part came reluctantly from his mouth.
“I’ll make a life here, and I’ll stop Voldemort from returning. If you’ll help me - then …I’ll be all the happier for it,” she said, snuggling into him.
“I will,” he said, and the solemn brush of a magically binding promise washed over her.
Hermione blinked, meeting his gaze. Those black eyes met hers, looking as inscrutable as ever, but she felt that there was … more to it. Maybe a promise of days to come, of companionship, and perhaps even more.
With a smile, she whispered: “Tomorrow, we’ll hunt the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes to prevent his return. They’ll be easy to find these days, and I know just where to look.”