AN:

First, I want to wish you all a Merry Christmas, warm Seasons Greetings, and Happy New Year, filled with love, family, and friends.

Secondly I have updated twice this week, so be sure you've read the previous chapter before starting this one.

Chapter Ten

Hermione had been skeptical about Severus's note, detailing her reward when she had woken up. She felt as though it was a test or a trap of some sort and had spent her breakfast trying to puzzle out the new game he was playing with her. When the distraction of eating bland but thankfully now solid food had run out, she still hadn't come upon an answer. Instead she had wrapped her hands in the sheets and pushed the explicit and erotic book away from her as if the added distance would lessen the temptation. She had then spent the rest of the late morning, having slept till well after ten, trying and failing to focus on the mind-numbing drivel that was proper address, dress code, and dining etiquette.

While the books Snape had provided her with were not uninformative, they were clearly geared towards someone who had no prior knowledge of the information within their pages. They had not been written for someone like her who, had it not been for the war, would have been launched like a ship onto muggle society the summer before. In fact, the books were so overly simplified, almost childlike in their instruction, that she had become more than a little insulted by Snape's obviously low opinion of her. It was of no consequence to her though if he wanted to waste his time by wrongly assuming she had little more knowledge than that of a barn raised cow. Sooner or later he would come to realize his mistake with his prejudice towards her muggle-raised background and she was most looking forward to when that time came.

Then by the time she had finished with the next several days worth of readings and had eaten her lunch - which had been comprised of even more solid food and possibly a hint of seasoning and spice though she wasn't sure if it was true or manifested wishful thinking - she couldn't shoulder the full weight of her curiosity any longer. She had gotten out of the bed and pulled on the silk and lace robe that matched the ridiculously short chemise that Snape instead Mopsey dress her in, this time in an admittedly flattering shade of iris, with a sneer. Two mornings ago when it no longer exhausted her Cruciatus fatigued limbs to even get up for the restroom, she had searched the wardrobes and found nothing but a never ending sea of near identical kimonos and slips that all whispered towards allure and seduction. At the sight she had almost broken the promise to herself to hold her tongue and violent hands so she could earn back access to the library. She had to give it to him though, he was expertly curtailing any chance of her Gryffindor impulses getting the better of her and sending her running from the manor by leaving her with only flimsy silk to wear and no shoes.

Once she had found her way to the library, she had regretted her choice that first day on which end of the manor to explore first. The space was massive, taking up much more of the manor than any ordinary person would deem acceptable and she had instantly fallen in love. The main two floors were open to each other with rounded shelves jutting out from the walls and crowned columns defining each section. The floors were laid in a wood and marble square pattern that had been polished to a reflective sheen. The center of the room had all manner of globes, clocks, desks, tables, and other trinkets aesthetically arranged to both be useful and pleasing to the eye. The upper floor was perimetered with even more shelves and a gold brushed railing. On the ceiling was a beautifully painted fresco that had not been enchanted to move and become sentient like so many other works of art in the wizarding world. And in the back of the library, nearly blending in with the detailed work of the ceiling, railing, and books, was a spiraling set of stairs that led beneath to the ground floor where even more books, maps, and journals were stored and above to the third floor that housed a much smaller selection of books as well as historic periodicals but an endless array of opulent seating and lounges.

She had spent hours exploring the carefully curated and centuries old collection. Every spine her fingers grazed, she worshiped and paid reverence to. She didn't know how many books she was allowed to remove from the room, so much of her time was spent compiling and ordering a list of every work of fiction and non-fiction that caught her eye. Then as the shadows in the room grew longer, the dark world she now lived in wholly forgotten while ensconced in her slice of heaven, she selected four books to take back to her room with her. Two on soulmates so she could do her own research away from Snape and two works of fiction that she could get lost in during the pre-dawn hours when the nightmares began to harass her and refuse her sleep till the sun rose.

The whole way back to her room, she had given herself a pep talk, assuring herself that she would not give in to the other half of her reward . It was surely a ploy of some kind, she just couldn't piece together what Snape would gain from feeding her sexual curiosity to give her theory validation. But he was a Slytherin at his core and therefore everything he did somehow served his own agenda. However Hermione hadn't often faced off against temptation in her life; but the few times that she had, she had failed to resist. So when she had finally returned with little more than an hour and a half before their standing dinner time, she was unsurprised that her words of strength abandoned her.

The thick book gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight that streamed in from the open drapes and called to her. Like a siren's victim she went from lucid to enchanted without even half an attempt at fighting the allure. Swept up in the trance, she had dropped her small collection of books that had seemed so promising when far removed from To Sir, With Adoration , onto the overcrowded nightstand. Picking it up with itching fingers, she didn't spare the rest of the room a single glance as she fell back into its erotic and informative pages on her way to the bath.

Submerged in the claw foot tub with its black and violet colored water courtesy of the fizzing sphere that had dissolved shortly after she had stepped in, she lost herself to her desires while surrounded in the scents of geranium, lemon, and rose. As her skin turned pink and her curls began to take on a halo of frizz, her muscles and mind relaxed leaving nothing to process but the words in the book and nothing to feel but the sensations of the cool room, warm water, and her responding body. With every page she read, the internal heat that made her blood sing rose and her nipples, half covered by the opaque water, grew puckered and erect.

Feeling her clit and the lips of her labia swell while her cunt contracted and released with the need for attention, she reached forward for the tray that rested across the tub and rapidly flipped through the book. Finding the moving photo from the other night, she reclined back and allowed her legs to fall open with a needy sigh as the warm water began to lick at her spread opening. As her eyes drifted over the words and series of smaller photos that walked the reader and their partner through the process that would bring them to the final stage, her fingers traced her mouth wondering how a ball gag would feel between her lips. Briefly she wondered how one would go about expressing their safe words with their mouth restricted. However as she absently ghosted her touch down her throat to her chest and breasts, the thought fluttered away with her mind telling her now was not the time for inquisitive questions.

Thumbing her nipple, she watched one of the smaller photos depict the gentle but purposeful way the Dom was fastening their sub's wrists and ankles into D ring cuffs, the image of the leather ones Snape had somewhere in the house coming to mind. Her eyes wandered over to the scene of the spreader bar being attached between the sub's legs while her hands palmed her breasts. Then she watched as the Dom brought their sub's hands together and guided them through her legs, bending her forward so that her chest and cheek rested on the ottoman on which she lay. Connecting her hands to the bar, he lifted and canted her hips so that her back sloped upwards till her bum was proudly displayed.

Somewhere along the transition from bondage to toy placement, Hermione's gaze had drifted up towards the ceiling. Her fingers crept down her belly and over her pubic bone as her eyes rolled and closed to better imagine herself as the one trussed up and waiting. Cupping herself and squeezing, she bit down on her lip to silence her breathy sigh. Massaging herself with her palm, she slowly lifted her hips up with each rotation to increase her friction. Then as the water began to lap and wave with her movements, she opened her swollen and sensitized lips, running her finger up from her parted slit, collecting her wetness before the water had a chance to wash it away with another stimulating wave.

Coming up to her distended clit, she circled it several times. With each completion she drew closer to making direct contact with the blood hardened bundle of nerves making her breathless and her body eager. Then when she couldn't bear to tease herself any longer, she swiped her finger over her pulsing clit with a hissed moan of pleasure, relief, and anticipation. Rubbing herself back and forth and then up and down, she felt herself begin to tense under the rapidly mounting pleasure that came from having neglected her sexual needs for so long. In only a handful of strokes she transitioned to tight, pressured circles that had the knot of release winding up within her. Pushing her shoulders into the tub as her back arched and her hips rode her hand she reached that mindless state of chasing pleasure in a matter of seconds. Panting and whimpering as she felt even more warmth race through her veins, she lost any discipline she had a year ago and continued to give herself over to her needier side until she hung in the balance.

Hovering in the place between building tension and free fall, her brow furrowed as she tried to claim her prize to no avail. The more she chased it, the more elusive it became. Huffing in frustration, she continued to vary her touch. She even added her other hand to play with the opening of her cunt in a bid to regain her orgasm. For the life of her though, she couldn't figure out what she was missing. Surely she hadn't forgotten how to please her own body over the last year. And as she continued to try and fail she started to get into her own head which only served to stress her out and push her further away from release.

Then as she was about to tear her hands away in agitation, she received that final piece of stimulation.

"Miss Granger, you are very nearly late for our dinner. If you do not cease your dawdling, I shall be forced to add tardiness to the list of grievances you are incurring by the day. At this rate, your arse will be so red you won't be able to sit properly for a week."

At the sound of Snape's voice and his allusions to spanking her, she all but swan dived off the cliff. The blip of an image, coupled with his voice, had her coming with an intensity that made her closed eyes see white as she gasped his name despite sinking her teeth into her lip with such strength she bled.

Hermione couldn't bask in her orgasm though. As the second S of his name finished rolling off her tongue, she was jolted back to reality. Pulling her hands from between her legs, she aggressively scrubbed the hazy pleasure from her face with the fragrant water, trying to banish all thoughts of him from her mind.

No! She silently scolded herself. There is so much wrong with this. Similar sexual tastes and beautiful libraries does not a romance make. So knock it off!

Soulmate or not, you are literally a prisoner in his home! This is not a Disney movie, you are not Belle, and he is most definitely not a cursed prince in need of learning how to love. You are stronger than this. You will not fall prey to Stockholm Syndrome or the ridiculousness of magically paired soulmates. Hell, people are probably paired off on little better than the blind guessing of Divination.

You need to remember your plan: Keep your wits, play on his beliefs, and reverse the roles so that he develops Lima Syndrome. Nowhere in that plan does it say, "Get yourself off to the idea of being naked and bound for his use!" Think with your head and not your fucking cunt, you are still at war!

I mean Godric's sword, you witnessed him kill over half a dozen of your loved ones and allies not even a week ago! Or does a sensual voice with a massive, well curated library and a healing hand make up for all of that?

Nodding her head along with her self reprimanding, Hermione climbed out of the tub and snatched a towel off the table to begin vigorously drying herself off. But then another, darker voice spoke from the back of her head. The one that she knew had to have come from the one biological parent she had identified. It was the voice that drove her jealousy and possession. The one that had her pushing others to bend to her superior way of thought without a care for their beliefs. The one that allowed her to sleep like a baby each night during her fifth year despite having cursed the signup sheet for Dumbledore's Army and permanently disfiguring a fellow student. The very one that soothed her when she had been more concerned by her lack of remorse for what she had led Umbdridge to, than for the events she had put into motion. It was the voice that had gone to war with Voldemort's locket the first time she had put it on and won , thus keeping her mind safe from its insidious magic.

But don't forget: These were the same people who after all you had done for them and the war effort, were more than willing to lead you like a lamb to slaughter when they had a means with which to save you. For all the truly heinous things Severus has done, you cannot forget that he has done nothing but care for you, heal you, and tend to you. He has not abused your mind or your body. Nor has he raped you or allowed others to even look upon you. He may be a violent and irredeemable man, but even he has lines he will not cross and you cannot deny that.

And though you choose to ignore it, you know had it been Ginny in your place Molly would have screamed herself hoarse about the mark until it had been confirmed. She would have done anything to spare her daughter from the camps or death. Instead she couldn't, wouldn't, even answer your questions in what was to be your final moments. Silently going along with Remus, just like the rest of them, unable to even look at you as they sent you to your death. She claimed you were like a daughter to her but it was a lie. She was a hypocrite. They didn't care about you or love you. You were merely a weapon to them, one they didn't want in the hands of their enemy. One final attempt for Remus to stick it to Severus from their days as schoolyard rivals. So spiteful he was, he probably would have laughed at your death then taunted Severus with what he had done.

You can lie to your friends, to Voldemort and his followers, and to Severus all you want, but you cannot lie to yourself. You know he's right. Fate and Divination aside, you see it and feel it in your bones. You're two sides of the same coin. Two parts of a darkly twisted whole. He's in your blood and in your soul and you're in his.

Even Draco's silver eyes that looked upon you with unadulterated love would flash with fear as he saw glimpses of who you were beneath the muggleborn mask.

If anyone is capable of accepting and loving you - the real you - it's Severus. Are you really willing to give that up in the name of avenging the people who thought you expendable?

Shaking the conflicting but truth filled thoughts from her head, Hermione wrapped the plush towel around herself and collected the book from its perch. Studying her still orgasmic flushed face in the mirror for a moment. Her cheeks had begun to fill back in, partly due to the regular and balanced meals Meringue made, but mostly in thanks to the potions that Snape had been brewing fresh for her. Though untouched by his healing as of yet, the nick in her neck from Bellatrix's blade was already showing improvement from the single treatment he had done on her arm. Looking down at the mutilated arm in question, she found it not as sensitive to touch as it had been and far less ghastly looking. True, both had begun to heal before her forced arrival at his manor but how they looked four days ago compared to how they looked now, she could clearly tell she had not been as well on her way to recovery as she had thought. And there was nothing else to say about it but that she was more cared for under him than she had been with the remnants of the Order after her torture or in those moments in the bowels of the Ministry. He had even gone as far as restricting his own self to the same diet she was forced to adhere to in her presence.

Severus Snape was a walking contradiction, blasting through the neat order of her mind and where she had placed him and she hated him for it. She hated him even more for the way those contradictions drew her in; begging her to study them and figure him out.

"I hope you haven't drowned in there," Snape called again, interrupting her thoughts. "I would be especially pissed off with you if you did considering I stopped to buy you a present while I was in London and can no longer return it."

That caught her attention as she looked to the cracked bathroom door.

"A present?" She questioned in disbelief. "You stopped to get me a present?"

"I'm going to need you to open the door or come out in order to hear you."

Leaving the book forgotten on the counter, she exchanged her towel for the iris colored robe, and left the bathroom while tying the sash into place on her waist. In the bedroom, Snape had forwent the chair he kept by her bed and sat in its mate. Framed by the window and the early summer evening sun, he radiated a level of confidence and arrogance few ever hoped to achieve or pull off with his legs spread wide. With his dark, soul eating aura and the contrasting halo of light that the low sun crowned him with, she couldn't decide if he looked more like the Devil or an archangel until she recalled that Lucifer had been both. And wasn't that the most fitting of all? The prideful son who dared to want more; who wanted to be loved and worshiped above all others. That was Severus Snape if ever there was a man befitting the description.

Watching as he openly - and dare she think appreciatively - tracked his eyes up her bare legs and thighs, Hermione repeated her question, her own gaze moving to the bed and the small collection of white, pink, and green colored shopping bags that sat in the middle.

"I asked if I heard you correctly when I heard you say you got me a present."

"You did," he answered, his voice thicker and richer like it had been after the times they had kissed.

No one but her parents had ever given her a gift for no reason. Her friends had hardly even remembered to wish her a Happy Birthday each year, let alone take the time to shop for her. Christmas was the only time her thoughtfulness was returned and she was sure most years it was because she would go home for the holiday and thus give her gifts early, making her shiny wrapped presents a glaring reminder to Harry and Ron. She knew it was partially her fault for having never voiced the hurt to her friends, but often many misinterpreted the language of gifts as materialism so she had kept her mouth shut and brushed it aside, learning to accept their words of affirmation as signs that they cared instead.

However the idea that Snape of all people had seen something and not only thought of her, but proceeded to buy it for her, had a glimmer of excitement pulling at her face despite her earlier self scolding. He couldn't possibly have known what the simple act would mean to her and therefore couldn't be using it as another tool for manipulation. That meant he had genuinely gone out of his way to bring her something from London for no other reason than he had been thinking about her.

"Which one is it?" She asked, examining the bags for the smallest one because surely it couldn't be one of the overstuffed bags from Harrods or Harvey Nichols.

Looking at her with a raised eyebrow that seemed more confused than taunting or assessing, he drawled, "All of them."

"You can't be serious."

"I assure you Miss Granger, I am. Don't get too excited though, I only purchased you some basic wardrobe pieces since I imagine in a few weeks you'll have filled back out and be in need of replacements.

"When I had instructed Mopsey to get you clothes, I had assumed she was going to have you fitted with more than those little nightdresses and robes," he said with mild irritation. "Since I was near Knightsbridge, I decided to pop into a few shops and rectify the problem myself. Or was I wrong in my assumption that you still prefer muggle dress to that of wizard dress? Or in my assumption that you would not prefer to wear what is little more than scrapes of lingerie all day?"

Gesturing to the short silk robe, she clarified, "Mopsey chose all of this?"

"Yes, who else would have?"

"I assumed you did so that I couldn't run."

"Admittedly the idea does have a certain level of brilliance to it, but no, before today I had nothing to do with the clothes you wear. I'm a dominate, not a masochist, and being forced to see you in those clingy dresses is a special kind of torture I'm not overly fond of."

Unsure if his words were an insult or a compliment but choosing to believe they were the latter based on how he watched her, she stepped closer to the bed to further examine the bags. The large green and white shopping bags were the ones from Harrods and Harvey Nichols respectively but the blush pink bags with their black satin bows left her confused. Peeking inside one, her eyes went wide as she read the calligraphy that proudly scrawled out the name, Agent Provocateur, across the center. Lifting the top box from the bag, she peeled the ribbon off and removed the lid to find a matching bra and knicker set within the delicate sheets of scented tissue paper.

Not entirely sure which of her two frames of mind was the right one to follow - and even more turned around by his sudden and seemingly uncharacteristic behavior - but knowing both paths started the same, she looked down her shoulder to find him watching the gap in her robe between her breasts. Allowing the second voice to speak for her, if only because it was the more bold and daring, more truthful of the two, she coyly lifted up the sheer coral colored knickers to herself and said, "Severus, you've picked out and purchased a small fortune's worth of lingerie for me. I think it's only appropriate we start using first names since one, you yourself said we're inevitable, and two, you'll have a fairly decent idea of what I'll be wearing under my clothes. Wouldn't you agree?"

"You're playing with fire, Hermione," he warned with foreboding eyes.

The way his voice caressed her name sent a thrill down her spine that emboldened her as she responded, "And yet I think you would let the whole world burn before you allowed a single flame to lick at my skin."

"How sure of that are you, pet? Because I am the fire and I can promise you, I intend to lick every inch of your skin."

Watching him and his dark, lust clouded eyes as she pulled on the sash of her robe, she responded, "Sure enough that I'm willing to tempt your control knowing that even though you'll want to get up and throw me on this bed, that you'll stay right there, unmoving, while you wait for me to come to you," before letting the silk ripple down her body to pool around her feet. And as she bent over to step into the knickers, she smiled at him, noticing his knuckles had turned white as he gripped the armrests, watching her dress without blinking or even breathing.