Chapter 34

It was a mere couple of days after their spankingly-good session on the kitchen table, and the day after Orla and Charlie had visited Malfoy Manor, that Hermione felt the pull of the compulsion again. She had been in the Black family library late that evening when she'd become aware of the first stirrings, whilst buried deep in 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' - the old, possibly medieval, tome by Owle Bullock that she had managed to summon from Dumbledore's office before they'd left school in their sixth year to hunt for Horcruxes.

There was more information on Horcrux creation and destruction in this one book than in anything she'd found in the school library, or here in the Grimmauld reading room. If there was anything new to be discovered, any shred of information that might throw some light on what Voldemort was attempting to do with the inanimate shells of the destroyed Horcruxes, it would surely be in this book.

Hermione had been familiarising herself, during the course of a most unpleasant reading session, with exactly how a Horcrux was made, and it sounded like a horrendously painful experience, to split one's soul and store a portion of it outside one's body. That was without the hideousness of the murder of an innocent that needed to happen in order to shatter the soul in the first place.

There was plenty of advice on how and where to store your Horcrux, of course, Owle Bullock had written the book presuming that the witch or wizard would only ever create one, never dreaming that centuries later a psychopath such as Tom Riddle would hoard several receptacles in which to guard multiple slivers of his broken soul.

Then there were the chapters that had proved so useful during their time on the run – those that described and warned against how one's Horcrux could be destroyed, information that they had used against Voldemort to kill each one, they'd presumed, beyond repair.

However, there was nothing, as far as Hermione could see, about reanimating one. Were they certain that was what Voldemort was doing? Perhaps he simply wanted to keep the destroyed Horcruxes under secure hold in a mausoleum of some kind, using the Gringotts vault for this purpose. Perhaps not.

She remembered Harry telling her that Voldemort had once taunted Dumbledore that he had gone "further along the path of immortality than anyone before." Harry had said that Voldemort had been devising his own forms of dark sorcery, new spells, new curses, new horrors. It was entirely likely that if he were trying to reanimate one, or all, of his Horcruxes, that the answer would not be found in a medieval book. Owle Bullock devised how to make a Horcrux, it was entirely possible that Lord Voldemort could devise how to reanimate one.

Hermione had heard Remus go upstairs to bed a short while earlier, and Orla had not been out of her room all day, insisting that she was fine, but needed some time to think about the meeting with her father. The kitchen would be empty, and she wondered if Snape would be in his office. The compulsion could likely wait until tomorrow, but she didn't really feel like waiting. As if to prompt her, her stomach gave a hard little jump, a lurch of excitement that propelled her to replace 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' on the bookshelf, and tread lightly down the narrow hallway of Grimmauld Place to head for the kitchen fireplace.

She cast a jet of green flame through the Floo to the Headmaster's office, a clever signal that Snape had devised to avoid Remus having to stick his head through the flames to call him, lest he have visitors (or Death Eaters) in his office who would be only too pleased to know that Headmaster Snape was aware of the whereabouts of the fugitive werewolf, Remus Lupin.

His dark head appeared in the fire almost immediately, responding to her call and glowing a curious green in the emerald flames of the Floo. He really did look positively Slytherin, shrouded in his house colours, she thought, amused.

"Good evening," he rumbled. "I am alone. You may come through, if you wish?"

"Through to the school?"

"The castle is now empty for the summer holidays, excepting the house-elves. No person but the Headmaster is permitted to be in residence during the summer, all students and staff are to return home. Even the minions of the Dark Lord have had to leave, for it is the way the wards of the school are set, and have been for centuries."

"How very convenient."

"Indeed. Now, are you coming through?"

"I am."

Hermione stood up from her crouched position on the kitchen hearth, smoothing the front of her short summer dress unnecessarily and grabbing a handful of Floo powder that she tossed into the flames as she stepped over the grate and entered the familiar circular office, which was still devoid of portraits. A sombre piece of classical music was playing on what sounded like a scratchy old gramophone, although she could not see it.

Snape was seated in one of the high-backed armchairs by the fire, a heavy glass of amber liquid held delicately in his long fingers, which he placed on the side table and rose to his feet. Hermione's stomach lurched again, the demands of the compulsion tugging her towards him, emotionally and physically. He looked deliciously unkempt, wearing only a crumpled white shirt rolled up to the elbows, and his usual black trousers. His feet were bare, and his hair looked as if he had recently run a terse hand through it, as it was roughly pushed back from his face and falling upon his shoulders.

He was not a handsome wizard, his nose and gaunt features saw to that, yet he was utterly compelling. Of course he was, because the spell that had been cast upon her insisted that she must find him so. Hermione stood on the hearth rug, looking at him quizzically for far longer than was strictly polite.

"Are you sure it is safe for me to be here?" she asked, as he approached her.

"I assure you that it is. There are wards and restrictions on this castle that even I cannot undo; centuries-old magic imbued within its very walls. Until the first of September, the school is open only to the current headmaster, or headmistress. No one can detect your presence here, unless I change my own personal wards to do so."

Hermione relaxed at Professor Snape's assured tone, and the compulsion thrummed hard as he came within touching distance. Unable to stop herself, she reached out her hands and placed them on his abdomen, feeling his breath hitch and his stomach contract beneath her palms. She quickly trailed them up his chest, hooking one hand around his neck and grabbing a fistful of the long, black hair, pulling his head down and helping herself to an urgent, tugging kiss of his warm lips.

"You greet me like a lover, witch," he warned, his head still held to one side where she had pulled it, his lips inches from hers, and a guarded but hungry look in his black eyes.

"You are the only lover I have ever known," she replied, lightly brushing her lips against his mouth, not kissing, just touching.

"I am regretful of that fact. You deserve so much more. It is unthinkable that you have been condemned to this."

"Condemned to what? To having fulfilling sex with a wizard who is caring and respectful? I would say that is not so terribly bad."

Snape crooked one side of his mouth upwards, into an approximation of a smile, before spinning her around sharply so that her back was pressed to his chest, sliding his hand quickly down her body and under the skirt of her dress.

"No knickers, Granger?" he drawled, against her earlobe, his breath hot and sensual as he stroked the bare curve of her hips, where her underwear should be, as if pleased by his discovery.

"I thought removing them would expediate the process," she shot back, and he would be able to hear the smile in her voice, even though he could not see her face.

"I heartily approve. Now, open your legs and allow me access so that I may assist you. I presume the reason for your visit is because you are compelled?"

She nodded against him, and he dropped his mouth to her neck, burrowing his sizeable nose under her mane of hair and attaching his lips to the sensitive cords he found there, kissing and flickering her hot skin with his sharp tongue. His left hand sought her breast, over her dress, and began to fondle, whilst the long fingers of his right burrowed between her legs, pried open her labia and found her clitoris, beginning a soft tickle against it, gently but persistently exciting her. Hermione was unable to stop herself letting out a sigh of relief.

"You like that, don't you? You like me touching you?"

His voice vibrated on her neck, millimetres from her skin, as he masturbated her with skill and precision. Her legs began to tremble beneath her, and she hoped he had a firm hold of her body lest her limbs collapse in a pathetic heap.

"I do," she admitted, quietly. "I really do."

"You do," he repeated, in that devastatingly low tone that was doing as much to to arouse her as his fingers were. "So, why aren't you coming for me?"

At his words, he sped up the circling movements of his fingers, swiping against the very spot that made her feel as if she were going to wet herself.

"I don't … want," she panted, with some effort, "don't want it … to be over too quickly."

"Come for me, girl, for my entire night is at your disposal, should you require it."

Oh, Merlin.

Hermione gave herself permission to let go, allowing the professor to take her weight and pressing her head back against his shoulder as he rubbed her to orgasm, her hips keening as she writhed on his invading hand.

"Good girl. Let me have it all. Every bit."

He slipped his hand lower and pushed two fingers inside her, stretching her, and she felt the gush of her juices that he had elicited, with a bit of help from the compulsion. His other arm clamped tightly around her waist, holding her steady.

"Do you want more, Granger?" he demanded, tersely, thrusting his fingers deep inside her channel.

"Yes … oh, fuck, yes … more, please."

Suddenly, she was more desperate than when she had first felt the compulsion, back in the library. Desire begets desire. The more she got, the more she wanted. That part had not changed, but now it was only her with the uncontrollable desire, Snape just had to satisfy it.

Removing his fingers from her, and letting go, rather abruptly, Snape left her standing there and returned to his armchair. She turned around in surprise, watching as he picked up the glass of what she presumed to be firewhisky and took a long, languorous sip, before fixing her with his black eyes and sucking her juices from his fingers as if they were as fine a nectar as what was in the glass.

Hermione remained standing where she was, curious to see what his plan was. His slow, definite movements were teasing and arousing. Thank goodness she'd already come, or his drawn-out seduction, if that was what it was, would have had her trembling with need by now.

Not breaking his gaze, his black eyes locked to hers, he unhooked his belt and the fastenings on his trousers, and lifting his hips slightly, pushed them down his thighs to his knees, remaining seated in the armchair. His cock was erect, standing proudly upwards, and she could not help staring at it, the size and power of it never ceasing to interest her. He took himself in hand and stroked around his length and girth, not to arouse, but to prepare, Hermione felt. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"May I interest you in taking a seat, Miss Granger?"

She wasn't sure if she'd ever been so interested in taking a seat. Fucking hell, there was no way she could stop herself walking forwards and kneeling either side of him on the wide seat of the armchair, the loose skirt of her short dress covering his hand as he guided the rounded head of his penis towards her, fumbling slightly as he sought her wet hole and pushed the swollen tip inside. She squeezed her vaginal muscles around the intruder, and watched his eyes flash with a shot of arousal. He removed his hands and placed one elbow nonchalantly on the arm of the chair, two fingers under his own chin as if appraising her, as if she was slightly amusing to him.

"You may sit down now."

Resting her hands lightly on his shoulders lest she overbalance and embarrass herself, Hermione slid down the entire length of his erection until his cock was fully seated inside her, and squeezed her internal muscles again.

"Fuck!" he swore, struggling to keep his relaxed pose, although he managed it.

Remembering the time when she had ridden him in his own bed, she began to move her hips, pushing upwards with her knees and sliding down again, building up a rhythm that excited her, feeling his cock twitch with pleasure, deep inside. Snape used the hand he was not resting his chin on to grab a tight hold of her hip, digging into her flesh with his fingers, as if holding on to her as tightly as he would his self-control. He was still looking at her insouciantly as she fucked him, but his eyes betrayed the passion that was building.

His penis bumped repeatedly against the sweet spot deep inside that both irritated and aroused her beyond belief, and she seated herself more firmly, moving her hips faster until she was effectively rutting in his lap. He swore again, louder and longer this time. With a wave of his hand, she was naked; dress and brassiere banished goodness knows where.

"Fucking hell, girl!" he exclaimed, his eyes devouring her nudity and taking hold of a bare breast, squeezing it roughly as she continued to writhe against him. "How did you learn to fuck like this?"

"From you," she whispered, leaning forwards and sliding her hands from his white-shirted shoulders up to his bare neck, which she clasped.

"From me," he repeated, and Hermione could feel his hips begin to move with her own as she drove them both higher, one hand gripping the nape of his neck and the other on the steady wingback of the chair.

She had not expected, when she arrived, to be grinding in his lap in this manner within a few minutes, but their moans of arousal were now bouncing off the empty, echoing walls of the cavernous office, as she fucked him in his own chair. His black hair was hanging in his face now, his teeth bared and gritted as he chased his orgasm, the desperation in his eyes urging her on, faster and faster.

"Finish me," Snape begged, now grasping both her hips, one in each hand, moving her rapidly against him in an increasingly frenzied pace. "Please, finish me … oh, god, fuck!"

He gave a long, drawn-out cry as he came, a guttural groan that lasted as he spurted inside her again and again, bumping her up with each thrust. She clutched him to her chest, stroking his back, allowing him to suckle and fondle her breasts as he came down from his peak. He greedily took her hard nipples into his mouth, sighing with relief and pleasure, before slowing to a stop with his arms around her waist, and his dark head laying on her chest, the long, thin strands of hair tickling her breasts as he rested there, breathing heavily.

At length, he leaned back in the armchair, and Hermione took this as her cue to remove herself from his lap, and his softened penis slipped out of her. He plucked his wand, apparently from nowhere, and shot a cleansing charm between her legs, saving her the indignity of having their combined emissions dripping down her thighs as she stood. He did not stand with her. Instead he remained in the chair, gazing at her nakedness.

"You, Granger, have an exquisitely beautiful body."

She could feel herself blushing at the compliment, which was somewhat inane since they'd just had sex, but she couldn't help it.

"I am an extremely fortunate wizard to have the pleasure of looking upon it, and being selfishly able to take my fill of such a creation."

Hermione shivered, for despite the warm summer air, it was still night time, and the castle was never particularly well-heated. Everyone kept their fires on a low burn, even during the summer months. However, she also felt vulnerable, standing there naked in front of him.

"Please, would you stand with me?" she asked, tentatively.

He picked up on her discomfort immediately, rising to his feet and using his wand to divest himself of all his remaining clothing, before wrapping his arms around her, and the feel of his bared skin upon her own felt blissful.

"Is that better?" he enquired.

"Much."

She could feel his heart thumping fast beneath her ear as he held her naked body against his. He wasn't nervous, was he?

"Did you say something about being at my disposal all night, Sir?"

"If you have need of me, then yes, most certainly."

"I am not in need, Professor. I simply want to be with you."

Snape pulled back so that he could look at her, taking hold of her arms and gently thumbing them, looking her deep in the eyes as if to assess her sincerity.

"Granger, you do not want me. You are compelled to think so. I feel wretched for taking advantage of that compulsion, yet it is so difficult not to, for you are an exquisitely desirable witch."

"I … I think I do want you, though. For real. Not because of the curse."

"You cannot possibly know that."

"In the last few months, I have lost everything. My parents, my best friends, my education and the whole world that I loved. The only thing that feels like a safe harbour … is you, Sir. Please don't push me away."

She felt tears spring to her eyes, and he surprisingly lifted a hand to tenderly wipe them from where they rolled down her cheeks.

"I would never push you away, girl. But you must understand, this is only a temporary state. It is my fervent hope that we will succeed in usurping the Dark Lord, and with the help of our allies, return the wizarding world to a state of peace. When that happens, and I will say when, for the alternative is unthinkable, you shall be free of me, and free to take up with any wizard you choose. I have no doubt that your free choice would not be me."

"But … but, if it was … would you have me?"

Hermione gulped, for she had finally dared to ask the question that had been rattling around in her mind for weeks. The feelings, these intense feelings that she had for this wizard, were they because of the curse? Because she had lost everyone else? Or could they possibly be real?

"You are grieving."

"That doesn't answer my question."

He sighed with annoyance as she backed him into a metaphorical corner. He was naked in his own office with her just as naked, as she asked him for a commitment that he could not possibly give.

"Granger," he said, quietly. "If there is ever a world where a witch such as yourself wants a wizard like me, I would be a fool to turn you down. But this decision cannot be made now, not while you are still cursed, not whilst you are grieving the loss of your friends, your family, your whole life as you knew it."

"Everything is gone. Everyone is gone. My old life is gone. I need to accept that and create a new one."

"Indeed, you do. But wait a while, lovely girl, wait until you know what that new life is going to be. I will not allow you to declare now, whilst things are so uncertain. For if you promised yourself to me, and then felt you could not honour it, once the war is won, my heart … Hermione. My heart would never survive it."

That was it.

He had laid himself as bare as she had, and she found his simple honesty along with the utter consideration of her own feelings was as compelling as the curse symptoms. And he had used her name. There was nothing more to be said, for now. She took his hand, and led him to the door in the wood panelling that led through to his own bedchamber.

-xxx-

Severus pulled the covers over their bodies and entwined himself around her in the centre of the huge four-poster bed in the centre of the Headmasters' chambers. His heart was beating so fast that he was afraid that she might feel it, her naked back laying against his chest. This girl had declared her feelings to him, and he had returned them, but not allowed them, for the child was not only wrought with grief, but was also beholden to him under a Dark sexual compulsion curse, and the wizarding world was in the grip of a madman. Her feelings, however true she might feel them to be, would be in turmoil, and he would be the worst of men to expect her to remain true to anything … afterwards.

He would protect both their hearts, not just his own.

"I miss my friends so much," she whispered, and he felt her wriggle closer to him, if that was possible, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.

Granger must be desperate if she was seeking comfort from him, nonetheless he would endeavour to provide it. He kissed her head through her abundant hair and wrapped his legs around her, in addition to his arms that were already there.

"They were taken from you most cruelly," Severus admitted, his voice quiet and serious. "Do not underestimate what you have lost, nor what the three of you achieved. Yourself, Potter and Weasley did more to bring about the demise of the Dark Lord than any other."

"Harry and Ron were so brave."

"Indeed, they were. As were you. Potter would not have succeeded to the point that he did without your precise research and attention to detail. Albus told me that Potter would need you, and in that he was correct."

"I cannot bear to think of a world without them in it," she sobbed, the tears falling freely now, and he tried to wipe them with his fingertips, not succeeding, and summoned a clean handkerchief instead. "And not just Harry and Ron – all the others too. All the Weasleys! Merlin, how Charlie must be coping I have no idea. All my friends – Neville and the others, and even Draco sounds like he was a great loss. And that is before I even begin to think about what I did to my parents."

Severus allowed her to cry out in his arms, mostly likely dripping snot on his pillowcases as she faced away from him, cradled fully in his arms and legs, but he cared little.

"It has been a huge tragedy, and you are right to grieve, right to cry. That is normal and natural. Right now, we have a cause to fight for, and I hope that we will succeed, so that such a catalogue of appalling tragedies cannot ever happen again. After that, I give you my word that if you need me, I will be here for you in whatever form you desire. As a friend, a confidante, as an advisor …"

"As a lover?" she interrupted, her voice watery and small.

He paused, not wanting to make promises to her that she might feel duty-bound to honour.

"If that is what you truly desire."

"I do."

"I will not allow you to make that decision now. I have explained why."

"But what about what you want?"

"My desires have mattered little for many years now, Granger. I exist solely to do the bidding of others. First my father, then Lily Evans, followed by the students that became the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and then Albus Dumbledore."

Shit, he was spilling his guts, here. He was attempting to provide the girl with comfort and instead he had allowed it to become some kind of quasi-therapy session for himself.

"I think you deserve to be happy, too," she answered.

"Then we both have very different opinions on what I deserve."

She was quiet, and for a while nothing could be heard apart from their own breathing, and the occasional muffled sob from her. He kissed her head again, and trailed his fingertips down her bare arm, moving his mouth to her shoulder and kissing the soft, warm skin that he found there.

"Severus? I need you," she said, quietly.

Merlin, she'd used his name. If only she knew how the sound of his given name from her mouth sent a jolt of arousal straight to his groin. It was so personal, so intimate, so private between the two of them. All the things he'd promised himself that this strange little relationship would never become.

"I am here. What can I give you?"

"Anything that you are able."

She reached up and took hold of his hand, pulling it around to her breast, and there was nothing he could do but begin to squeeze her firm tit, thumbing the nipple as he kissed from her shoulder to her neck, enjoying her slight writhe against him as she encouraged his exploration.

This? This he could do.

Sliding his hand down her body, he lifted her upper leg, opening her thighs and guiding it backwards to rest over his own so that he could push his semi-interested cock against her hot cunt. Whilst he waited for the full co-operation of his penis, having already spilled its load less than half an hour previously, Severus slipped his hand back over her hip and delved between her labia, using his long fingers to open her up even further than she was already splayed.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, taking hold of his other hand that was under her head, and clutching it tightly. "Yesss …"

He'd never had a witch so desperate for his touch at every opportunity, and for now, he would not overthink it. They had both declared their intentions, now it was time to get on with the jobs that needed to be done. Retaking the Ministry, reclaiming the school, and assassinating a tyrant. But first, there were the demands of a compulsion curse to satisfy, which was infinitely more pleasurable than the other chores on his to-do list.

Severus took hold of her needy little clit and began to roll it between his third finger and his thumb, feeling it swell beneath his touch, and hearing her gasp at his firm hold on her most sensitive part.

"I really love that," she hissed, wriggling in his arms.

"I know you do, little witch," he growled in her ear, jostling his hardening cock against her wet folds.

He was as aroused as she, despite no longer being under the compulsion.

"Would you like me to fuck you at the same time, or make you come first?"

"At the same time, please, Sir."

"Not Sir."

"Severus. At the same time, please."

Wench. Even in the depths of despair this little Nimue teased and tormented him in the most deliciously wicked of ways. He kept his fingers dabbling in her cunt, flickering around her clitoris and the inner walls of her labia, for his now-solid erection needed no assistance to find its way to her still-wet, gaping hole that was spread wide open, across his thigh. He pushed inside, seeking the blissful clutch of her tight pussy around him like a hot glove.

He began to thrust in and out, building up a rhythm whilst masturbating her manually, jostling her clit and tickling her urethral opening so that she was fully stimulated, fully engaged. A mighty orgasm would quiet her mind, remind her that she was alive and had so much to live for, and to go some small way towards easing her terrible grief.

"Fuck …" she breathed. "Oh fuck, … yes, Oh! Shit …"

Severus rocked inside her, keeping his thrusts steady and purposeful, ensuring that he kept up his constant agitation of her clit, chasing her orgasm down, pushing her nearer to the edge.

"You are close, little witch," he murmured. "I can feel that you are close. You want to come, don't you?"

"I do … I do. Push me harder … faster."

She was panting and somewhat incoherent, but he knew what she needed. He could read her non-verbal signals like a book, typical Gryffindor, she couldn't hide anything. He sped up his thrusts, pistoning into her with such speed and force that he knew his own orgasm would not take long. No longer performing delicate moves with his hand, he was now frigging the front of her sex with his full hand, desperate for her to reach climax with him.

"Come with me," he groaned out, through clenched teeth. "Come with me … please … oh god …"

Granger cried out with a scream of finality, and he felt her clit pulse under his fingers, and her cunt contract around his cock. Severus let go with a flurry of final thrusts, his hips slamming against her bottom as he came, pouring every bit of love and affection into her in the only way he would allow himself to.

He swept his hands over as much of her sweating body as he could, touching her, soothing her, needing to feel again the sublime curves he now knew so well. This young witch had accepted his own body with approval and acceptance, uncaring of the age or damaged condition in which it came, and gifted him with nothing but perfection in return.

As they returned to themselves, she slipped an arm behind her, reaching for his head and pulling him down to gift him with a kiss. It was a deep, searching kiss, and for once it was she who pushed her own tongue into his mouth, wanting more, needing to feel him deeply.

Severus decided that it was very fortunate that his mouth was otherwise engaged, otherwise he would be at risk of spilling his true feelings as if she had dosed him with Veritaserum.

Gods, I love you, girl, he wanted to say.

I love you with a depth of passion that I never believed might live inside my blackened soul.