Disclaimer: Please note, this is but a humble fan-fiction. All characters, places, themes etc belong to JK Rowling. I am merely toying with them for my own amusement.

Here it is guys, the second part to what would have been one big fat mega-chapter. Thank you for bearing with me throughout this – I don't like having to do two-parters but it really would have been too much if I'd have left it as one.

So I give you: dark and smutty! I hope you like it. I've tried not to overdo it this time around (though look out for some creepiness towards the end). I wanted to leave the ending open for some post-coital Sevvy next chapter. ;)

Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following and faving! I hope you continue to enjoy it.

Chapter Warnings: mature language, BDSM, sexual scenes.

Chapter Ten

Tricia stood silently outside the door to Snape's chambers and, for the first time in her life, her fabled Gryffindor courage almost failed her. The cold dungeon air was heavy with ominous tension. It took every ounce of her self-control not to turn on her heel and run back up the corridor. He would never know, she reminded herself. He would never be any the wiser. But in the end, she couldn't: her pride simply wouldn't allow it. So, taking a galvanising breath, she lifted a trembling hand and knocked on the door. There was a considerable delay and Tricia was just feeling the beginnings of relief when she heard the lock click. The door opened a fraction and Snape appeared in the gap, his expression irritable. He stiffened momentarily with surprise as his black eyes fell upon her. Then, his lips curved into an unpleasant smirk.

"Miss Stimpson," he murmured, his tone icy. "I had wondered when you might seek me out."

"We need to talk," Tricia said, as authoritatively as she could manage with shaking hands.

"Yes, I think so," Snape responded and he opened the door wide, inviting her to enter. Every sensible bone in her body was screaming at her, telling her not to cross that threshold, but she ignored her reason; she could not lose face to him again. Silently, she stepped into his parlour and almost gasped at what she saw.

The room was quite the opposite to his dingy, Spartan office. The furnishings were few, indeed, but sumptuous and elaborate, a cornucopia of mahogany, rich leather and luxurious velvet. There were paintings on the walls – actual paintings as opposed to jars of slimy, dead and pickled oddities – and the magnificently carved stone fireplace was crackling with merry, orange flames. Tricia was surprised; she had not expected his quarters to be so indulgent. She wondered idly how many people had seen them.

She turned to face him and they regarded each other in frosty silence for several moments.

"You broke the rules," he murmured eventually, without a trace of amusement in his voice. Tricia's pulse quickened beneath her skin.

"Only because you pushed me," she countered, hotly. "You have no right-"

"I was under the impression we were playing according to my terms, Miss Stimpson," he hissed. "Ergo, your opinion on the matter is invalid."

Tricia blinked defiantly. A game? This was his idea of a game?

"How did you even know?" she muttered. "That's messed up."

He smirked again, a cold, cruel gesture that did not reach his eyes.

"Patricia, I know magic that a sixth year couldn't even dream of," he breathed. "Rest assured that whatever you do, I shall know about it."

He regarded her intently, his words laced with subtle meaning. Tricia wondered if he knew about her shower that morning – not that she had broken any of his stupid rules by doing that. Something in the way he was looking at her told her he did. It was a dark look, smouldering with wrath and longing alike. It made Tricia squirm with unbidden desire.

"Are you going to punish me, sir?" she whispered, surprised by how husky her voice sounded. Snape's smirk widened and his coal-coloured eyes flashed with some unnamed fire.

"I think you deserve it, don't you Miss Stimpson?"

No, she thought.

"Yes," she replied, and she cursed herself at once. What the hell was he doing to her? She was supposed to be angry at him, not melting in his hands like a chocolate frog on a summer's day! She closed her eyes, breathing in a deep steadying breath. She had to steel herself. She had to resist.

"Tricia..." he whispered, his voice mere centimetres from her ear. Tricia's eyes snapped open again. He was right in her space, towering over her with a predatorial gleam in his dark eyes. His warmth and his scent surrounded her, filling her senses and making her traitorous body surrender to his lure. Her hands reached out for him and he caught them deftly, pulling her flush against his chest so he could kiss her. Tricia moaned, the last of her resolve melting away as he roughly claimed her mouth. His tongue thrust against hers and she thought she caught the bittersweet taste of dark chocolate before he pulled away, panting, leaving her wet.

"The desk," he commanded. "Now."

He pointed almost viciously to a handsome desk in the corner, which was clear save for a neat stack of parchment in one corner. Tricia obeyed at once, her stomach doing little somersaults of delight at the prospect of more desk sex. Gracefully, she hoisted herself up onto the smooth, polished surface, parting her thighs invitingly. His eyes met hers across the room and he gave her a devious smirk that made her throb with need.

"Tempting," he murmured. "But not what I had in mind. Bend over the desk, Miss Stimpson, facing the door."

Tricia frowned, not entirely sure of the reason for his strange request. She obeyed however, leaning her body on her arms as she bent over the desk. She felt her skirt hitch as she did so, all but exposing her lace-covered backside and she realised his intention: he was going to spank her. A tremor of anticipation rippled through her body and her flingers flexed on the cool surface of the wood.

"Good," Snape muttered, his voice dropping an octave. "In future, when I tell you to assume to position, this is the stance you will take. Now..."

Unable to see him, Tricia could only hear, and to some extent sense, his movements. She could feel his presence grow closer, crossing the room, and hear the rustle of his robes as though he were reaching into his pockets. Her breath caught in her throat and she started when she felt something cool and firm trailing over the tops of her thighs. Her head snapped round, peering over her shoulder, and she could just make out the leather riding crop in his hand. Her heart began to thump wildly in her chest.

"You are to be punished, Miss Stimpson, for your flagrant disregard of the rules," he announced, in a deadly voice. "You touched yourself, after I specifically told you not to. As such, I am sentencing you to twelve lashes. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Tricia breathed, shifting on the desk. She couldn't say why but the prospect of this severe man beating the shit out of her was the hottest thing she had ever heard. She wanted to be angry, she really did...

"Brace yourself, Patricia," he instructed. "Stand with feet hips width apart and grip the edge of the desk."

She did as she was told, repressing a moan as her breasts were flattened against the desk. She felt him move behind her, her whole body tensing with anticipation. Then, there was a swish and a ringing slap as he brought the crop down across her backside. Hot, stinging pain blossomed on her skin and Tricia let out a yelp of surprise. It hurt – holy shit, did it hurt – but the resounding shockwave it sent through her lower regions was as arousing as it was painful. She moaned and he hit her again, a little lower this time, right on the join between buttock and thigh. The pain was exquisite and she threw back her head, crying out to the empty room.

"Your. Pleasure. Belongs. To. Me." Snape ground out the words, punctuating each with another forceful crack of the riding crop. Tricia moaned noisily. Every blow brought her both pain and pleasure, heightening her senses, rocking her body to the core. She could feel her nipples rubbing against the surface of the desk, her passage clenching and unclenching with every stroke. He was hitting so close to her centre and yet not close enough, not enough to give her any relief. That all too familiar pressure began to build, twisting in her belly. She tried to wiggle her hips, to control the landing of the blows, but he only moved them higher.

"I don't think so," he snarled, landing an extra hard swipe on the middle of her backside. His voice was husky for all its vitriol, betraying his own arousal at the spectacle before him. He hit her again and again and Tricia wailed her need, wishing she'd had the sense to count. Her body was a quivering mass of sensation, of pain and pleasure, and she needed something, anything, to break. Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it was over. She heard the riding crop clatter to the floor and then Snape's hands were upon her, roughly yanking down her underwear. Tricia had only a split-second to gather her thoughts before his thick cock filled her in one swift gesture. She screamed, arching her back.

"Fuck!"

"Oh, so wet, Miss Stimpson," he groaned and without delay, he began to pound her roughly, grunting his pleasure. Her body and the desk beneath it quaked with the force of his thrusts. He felt incredible, stretching her, fucking her, sending wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her body.

"Your pleasure is mine," he growled. "Say it!"

"My pleasure... is... yours!" Tricia panted, arching up off the desk to impale herself further. Snape took full advantage, slipping his hands inside her shirt to tease at her breasts. The combined torment of her nipples and the smashing of his cock against her cervix sent Tricia hurtling over the edge. She cried out incoherently as her world went white, her body becoming a limp mass of sensation in his arms. Through her haze, she felt her muscles flexing around him and he too came with a harsh cry, pulling her flush against his chest. Tricia moaned softly, revelling in the throbbing of her sex, the pulsating sting of her backside and the hot trickle of their mingled fluids seeping down her thighs. She felt his heartbeat hammering against her back and she smiled as his fingers threaded through her hair, kissing it tenderly.

"Mine," he whispered, feverishly. "You. Are. Mine."