Chapter Eight

It was a curious thing how much life could change in a single year. Sleep hadn't always been something Hermione feared or actively avoided. A year ago it had been a warm and welcoming embrace. A satisfying and hard earned conclusion to the end of each day. Laying safely tucked away in bed at night as sleep circled in on her had been the calm of her days. The only moments afforded to her where she could remove everything else from her mind and simply exist and feel. No one needed or wanted anything from her. Heavy expectations didn't rest on her shoulders. There were no secrets to keep. She was simply alone and free.

If she wanted to stare blankly at her canopy, floating in the void of meditation she could. If she wanted to caress her fingers down her throat wondering what it would feel like to have someone's hand squeezing at her airway to heighten her pleasure she could. If she wanted her hands to fondle at her breasts until a moist, throbbing warmth gathered between her legs, she could. And when the clenching of her thighs would do nothing to ease her self-teasing, she was free to follow the beckoning sensation further in any manner she so pleased, of which there were many when she was alone and playing games with herself.

Some nights she would bring herself to orgasm by humping and riding her pillows while tweaking her nipples until she was gasping for breath and falling over from her spent lust. Other nights she would lay on her back with her legs flopped open as her fingers circled her hardened clit and pumped in and out of her hot, wet, and clenching cunt until she was biting the back of her hand to smother the keening moans of her rushing release. And on occasion when darker, more intoxicating fantasies would flutter through her mind and take up residence in her headspace, she would give in to those as well.

The feathered end of her quills became the ultimate tease as she tickled and stimulated herself. She would use them to slowly bring herself to the cusp of orgasm with light caresses only to remove her touch at the last second and begin again once she had calmed down. Staying off her orgasm was a discipline that had taken her ages to master on her own but one that once she had, made her release all the more intense. Other times she would charm the candles from beside her bed - which she had long ago replaced with something more suitable after she couldn't stop pondering how the wax would feel on her skin - to drip over her stomach and breasts, interchanging the sensations with blasts of cold air from the tip of her wand. And the most secret thing of all that she would get into at night was wearing or buggering herself with a beginners butt plug as she relentlessly masturbated to bring herself off as many times as she could until she reached orgasmic exhaustion.

Draco's fingers had accidentally grazed against the puckered opening she had never thought to explore one night and that single whisper of a touch had blown her eyes wide and made her groan with need as she begged him for more. Her desperate, lust filled pleas had gotten him to repeat the action several times, winding her release tighter with each touch. Then he had begun tapping and pressing against her entrance in time with her own fingers that were circling her clit and a screaming orgasm had unexpectedly been torn from her throat leaving her bones limp and her eyes glazed with satisfaction. However despite her enjoyment it had been something he decided he didn't want to do again and thus the eager purchase and secret use of her ruby colored, rose-ended butt plug.

Then not too many weeks after that night, Hermione had helped Draco layer the final charm into the once splintered wood of the now infamous Vanishing Cabinet. With that single, perfectly timed wave of their wands, the fate of the war had been sealed. In the face of their damning success they had been on the brink of breaching a singularly crossed threshold. One he had previously said he didn't want to experience with her until he didn't have to keep his love for her a secret from the world. However knowing the end was upon them they silently agreed to share in that final first, uncertain of what would await them on the other side of the war. The blunt head of his cock had been positioned at her entrance and his mercurial colored eyes locked on her as he whispered, "I love you," when his arm began to burn in summons, abruptly ending their final tryst. Even still, knowing that they were on the cusp of war as he dressed and pressed a final, fervent kiss to her lips before racing off to answer the call of the madman he had been enslaved to, that had not been the night that sleep had turned to something she feared and avoided. The survivalist instinct to only partake in the bare minimum of hours she needed to keep her body functioning hadn't come until after she had faced the fallout from her secret with Draco.

She had done everything she could to help him succeed in his task so that he and his mother could live, all the while believing that when their year's long work came to fruition, Professor Snape would be able to protect them as he had done so many times before. Even as the Death Eaters had descended upon Hogwarts like an unforgiving and malevolent force of nature, wreaking havoc across the castle, she had maintained her unwavering faith in the man so many found untrustworthy. She had vehemently believed with every fiber of her being that the dark, imposing, and often harsh or down right cruel professor was on their side. Had relentlessly defended him to Harry, Ron, and even Sirius and other inducted members of the Order who thought to question his allegiance, calling them on their unkind and ungrateful words given all he did for them. So when Dumbledore had fallen from the Astronomy Tower and Harry had pointed the finger at Snape, Hermione had shattered.

Her instincts had all but screamed at her that no matter what, she was safe as long as Snape was there. She had trusted him implicitly. Had held firm in her faith and in the feeling of safety and security he emanated whenever she was in his presence. But in the end, he destroyed that by betraying them all and murdering Dumbledore.

While others had been grieving the loss of the illustrious headmaster's life, she had grieved for something far beyond the capability of her comprehension. She inexplicably felt his betrayal down in the depths of her very soul. Felt it as a personal attack upon herself. He had broken something vital within her that night. Something that she hadn't even known existed until he had carelessly smashed it. And whatever that fissure in her soul was, it had left her with a burning, righteous filled sense of fury towards him because he had stolen her ability to trust, have faith, and feel secure. He had damaged her in a way she hadn't thought possible. And after flinging back the things she had given to him without hesitation or need for exploration, he had reawakened them within her, making her all the more enraged by his very presence.

However, wading through the thick waters of the place where dream and reality blurred together she couldn't find it in herself to care about any of that. She had passed the point of being tired ages ago and fallen into bone deep exhaustion. Her body ached down to her nerves. Her magic, though alive and rolling through her veins, was fatigued and begging her for a reprieve from use. And her mind was so overworked from juggling so many things these last months, that it too had given up on all but processing the commands that kept her alive in a bid to make her finally rest. She was even too weary to don her cloak of hatred and fight the pull she felt towards Snape. All she wanted was one night to care for her own well-being with selfish attention. Then in the morning she promised herself everything would return to how it had been before she had awoken in the dark to the stirring hand of Professor Snape's over her own as he shifted in his sleep.

Firm in her decision, Hermione held onto his hand and the small tether of serenity his touch provided as she slowly pushed herself up on the bed so that she was sitting. Absently adjusting the strap of the silk chemise she had been dressed in as it fell down her shoulder, she looked around at the small changes that had occurred after she had again lost consciousness. Something she hoped wouldn't become a new habit of hers if she engaged in putting the care of herself first for the night. On the left bedside table was a collection of haphazardly stacked books, their titles turned away from her, that she eagerly began to reach for. However, as her fingers started to slip from Snape's as she stretched to make contact with the top book, his hand tightened around her own and held her back. Turning to scowl at him and renege on her temporary cease-fire she was surprised to find him relaxed and still asleep.

The difference in his appearance from that morning to when she had awoken the first time had barely registered. Now though in the secret safety of the dim room that was free of witnesses, she could appreciate him as he was. Or rather as she assumed him to be because for all she knew, this too was another skin, another role he slipped on as it suited him. The bags and shadows under his eyes were gone, as were the stress lines around his eyes and across his forehead. Even his complexion looked remarkably improved with the sickly pallor she knew him to have mysteriously absent. Instead his skin was a smooth, unmarred alabaster and his normally dry, thin lips were more plump and full of pink, watermelon-like coloring. The bastard's hair had even improved. It no longer hung limp and lifeless around his face in a curtain of oily stings. It had body and thickness and an enviable shine that made the inky black color look almost blue under the soft candlelight. And at the very end of his strands was a gentle wisp of curl that seemed to be acting out in defiance from his otherwise pin straight locks.

"Lovely," she quietly groused. "He even has a face that's worthy of that Devil worrying smile and sinful voice of his."

"Nice to know you like how I look, pet," he murmured as he roused from sleep making her eyes go wide at having been caught in her appraisal of him.

Going for a huff to hide her embarrassment as she tried to take her hand back from him, she was as surprised as his raised eyebrow suggested he was when a soft sigh slipped out as his lips brushed across her knuckles. It was unfair that after nearly a year with a war squashed libido that he had been the one to relight the match. It was even more unfair that the simple and almost chaste act of his lips on the back of her hand that had surely been intended as a taunt, had elicited such a visceral response from her.

Looking away from his darkening stare as she tried to not squeeze her thighs together beneath the sheets to relieve the renewed warmth and ache between her legs, she asked the first thing that came to her mind, "Why do you call me pet?"

Pressing another kiss to her hand, this one along the fleshy part on the outside of her palm, he responded in his purring drawl, "Because despite you being feral and continuously biting at the hand that wishes to feed you, I find myself wanting to tame you, collar you, and keep you for my own."

"Oh bloody hell," she breathed out, trying to shake her hand loose. "This was a horrible idea."

Snape squeezed her hand tighter for a single second, his eyes seeming to penetrate her mind with their intensity, before releasing his hold on her. Retreating her hand under the duvet, Hermione worried the sheets and began looking around the room. It had been easier to accept the idea of laying her anger to rest for the night when he had been asleep. Now that he too was awake in the cocooned room that she had been appreciative for earlier, she found the room to be stifling and desperately looked for anything that would prove to be a suitable distraction. Without her armor of rage to protect herself, she found she was unable to float amongst the myriad of polarizing emotions and thoughts that swirled through her. However like those that had scattered when Harry fell, she knew that sometimes the best way to be able to fight on was to preserve yourself first. Avoidance wasn't a lasting or healthy coping mechanism but it was all she had to cling to in the moment. Otherwise she was sure she'd drown under the onslaught of invading and deferring thoughts and questions.

Confirming her path for the night once again, she let out a slow exhale and felt her shoulders begin to drop down from her ears. On her following inhale she forced herself to stop wringing the sheets. And at her second exhale she turned her head back to Snape who was still watching her with a studying eye.

"Can you not look at me like that?"

"And just how am I looking at you?"

"Like you're trying to learn me."

His mouth ticked up at the corner and the softest crinkle came to the corner of his eyes telling his secret of wanting to smile at her as he said, "You'll have to ask for something else, Miss Granger. I am trying to learn you." Resting his elbows onto the mattress as he leaned into her, he probed, "You seem much more docile this evening. Why?"

"Because I'm too exhausted to fight with you tonight," she answered candidly. "Don't worry though Professor, I'll be back to my feral ways by day break."

"Good. I want you to be submissive, not resigned and meek."

"Those are all synonyms for each other."

"Hardly," he scoffed, wandlessly summoning the stack of books to reorder themselves between them. "Submission is something that is given but can also be taken away. It, in conjunction with Dominance, is an aspect of a relationship that two people - sometimes more, though I personally prefer the monogamous end of the spectrum - partake in. Those involved in that type of relationship and lifestyle derive both sexual and emotional gratification from the dynamic. Often it's a role that once you partake in and find it suits you, other more socially accepted or vanilla type relationships become less fulfilling

"Submission doesn't make you weak nor does it imply that you are weak of mind. Many don't understand the mental fortitude a proper sub has to have in order to relinquish control without being controlled. Their partner's submission is a gift, a reward if you will, that a Dom seeks and craves. We thrive not only on the knowledge that our sub's sexual pleasure is entirely dependent upon us and what we give them, but on the mental connection that is built with our sub. It's intoxicating and addicting to know that while your sub doesn't actually need you, they still hand over their control to you. That they trust you enough to allow you to guide them, encourage them, care for them, and push their boundaries so that they may learn and grow.

"Even simple things like selecting the color of your nail varnish is enthralling to us. It means nothing to those not in the loop of privacy but between a Dom and their sub, it means everything. Small though it is, it's a constant reminder that your sub trusts you to know their likes and dislikes as well as anticipate their wants, needs, and desires. Some reserve their roles for sexual play only. Others, like myself, seek that exchange of power both in and out of scenes. We like to bring the aspects of Dominance and submission into our everyday life. It transcends the sexual and goes into the very makeup of who we are.

"Being resigned and meek are states of mind one goes to when they've given up. They're personality traits of doormats and you pet, are the furthest thing from a doormat. I may want to tame that feralness of yours but only to the point of you knowing when it is and is not acceptable for you to unleash it. I quite like the idea of punishing you for that bratty mouth of yours, so I'd hate to lose it in it's eternity. However, all this is a conversation that is best saved for another time. I fear that if we go any deeper that I will find it too tempting to begin seeing if you're receptive to training."

Hermione wasn't sure when it had happened but by the close of Snape's words, she found herself resting her elbows on the stack of books with her chin in her hands. She was held captive by his explanation as he had pulled back the curtain and allowed her a peek inside. She wasn't overly familiar with what exactly he was speaking of but his words resonated with her. They seemed to hone in on and penetrate the same desires that had driven her to replace her candles with ones that were conducive for dripping wax onto her skin and to order herself the small butt plug that she had enjoyed so much. Without any effort he had guided her to something she had been searching for during her sexual exploration and it was turning her pliant beneath his hands. And the truly terrifying part was she hadn't even been aware it was happening nor did she care if she tempted him by asking for more information. Like her anger and hostility, their game of psychological warfare could wait a night and then in the morning everything could go back to the way it needed to be.

Steeling her nerves, she dove in and asked, "What do you mean by training?"

The silver cloche he had been setting onto the gold and mirrored serving trolley clattered as he looked up at her with a clear warning in his black eyes.

"Miss Granger, I am going to respect your level of exhaustion and not engage in games with you tonight. However if you bait me, our temporary armistice will be at an end."

"I'm not baiting you, Professor," she promised, keeping her gaze steady under his scrutiny.

Narrowing his eyes further, he asked, "Why do you want to know?"

Resuming her wringing of the sheets, Hermione self-consciously answered, "Because Draco, Harry and Ron, the other girls in my dorm, none of them are like me. They don't look at things like a feathered quill and see an instrument for teasing or wonder what the melting wax of a candle would feel like on their skin-"

"Oh sweet fucking Salazar and his mother," Snape swore interrupting her, his eyes blazing as he watched her with the same level of captivation she had given him earlier.

"They're not depraved like I am," she finished, keeping a tight hold on the sheet as he tried to pull it from her hands.

Winning their short game of tug of war, he simultaneously confirmed and demanded, "Everything goes back to normal in the morning and we don't speak of anything that is said tonight."

Nodding her head, she reached around him for the glass of water on the trolley and after a swallow to remove the cotton that had gathered in her mouth she agreed, "That arrangement works for me."

"Good," he responded. "Then first things first, having a broader, more open and tolerant view of sex and pleasure does not make you depraved, Hermione."

"Then what does it make me?"

"Fucking perfect," he growled, surging forward to crush his lips against hers in a rough, breath stealing kiss that had her hands moving to his chest as she fisted his cotton shirt like an anchor. Tearing his mouth away just as savagely, he rested his forehead on hers and repeated, "So fucking perfect and so fucking problematic."

"I'm sorry, Professor," she apologized though she wasn't sure what for.

Placing a startlingly gentle kiss to her forehead, he resumed his place in the chair and studiously ignored the bulging tent in his lounge pants as well as her fixated stare on it as he summoned a second, smaller stack of books from the table under the window and handed them off to her, saying, "The very first step that training you would entail - and this is something that does not need to be forgotten come morning - is breaking you of the habit of addressing me as Professor. While I would have an honorific that you would be expected to use during scenes, as well as during correction, I would like to not draw further attention to the fact that I am twenty years your senior and that you were once my student.

"From there I would take the time to educate you in the BDSM lifestyle so you can better understand that you are one, not deprived and two, see if it piqued your interests enough to further pursue the role of being my submissive. If that happens to be the case, then we would have a very open, nothing is off the table discussion about our sexual history, our expectations and concerns, things we would and would not be willing to engage in, and things we have and have not liked in the past. Only after all of that was handled to our mutual satisfaction and we deemed us compatible, would the real training begin."

Tapping the top book of the stack he had handed her, Snape encouraged, "Go ahead pet, open it up. See for yourself that you are not depraved and that there is so much more that you have been missing out on. So much more that I can show you if you allow yourself to trust me and surrender yourself to me."

Here's where we're at an impasse though, Profess - I mean Snape, she thought, surprising herself with how quickly she was already conforming to his desire even inside her head where he wouldn't know what she called him. You had my trust and destroyed it. How can I ever come to trust you again? And if I do, how can I be sure it's true given in the situation I now find myself in?

"Another topic for another night," he answered as if she had spoken her concerns aloud. "For now, exist in the bubble of avoidance and just learn what you wish to know about yourself without the worry of anything else. There'll be plenty of time for us to regret this tomorrow."

Mulling his words and her temptation over for only a second, Hermione opened the book to a random page halfway through and gasped, "Holy sword of Gryffindor," as she took in the moving picture before her, her nipples hardening as blood rushed to her clit with excitement.

"You need to walk before you run, pet," Snape admonished in a sinful drawl, flipping the book back to the beginning as he shamelessly adjusted his cock. "I'll keep note of that for later though if you would like."

"Yes, please," she answered without filter or care as she began to read the introductory paragraphs of her new favorite book. She only looked up as he brought spoonfuls of broth to her lips, having taken over the task of feeding her as she became so engrossed with learning terms like aftercare, impact play, and subspace that she had stopped doing it herself. Then as she crossed the definitions of collaring under Basic Symbols and Toys of BDSM, he had her full attention as her question proceeded to fall from her lips before she could stop it.

"When you said you wanted to collar and keep me, did you mean it to the extent of A or B?"

"B," he answered, tearing a bite-sized piece of bread from a loaf and offering it to her.

"But it says that's-"

"I'm aware of what it says and what it means, pet."

Opening her mouth to take the bread from his fingers as he raised an impatient eyebrow at her, she chewed slowly and turned her attention back to the book to hide her blushing cheeks and soft smile. Reading the definition again, she allowed herself a short internal scream of girlish giddiness. After all, it was only one night. She could selfishly indulge in the fantasy of it all for a few short hours before returning to reality.

Collar:

a) A piece of bondage equipment worn around the throat during play.

b) A symbol of surrender and ownership worn by a sub. Collars are given in relationships as profound symbols of commitment between a Dom and their sub. Comparatively speaking, collars hold the same symbolism as wedding rings.