Collared
Adriana Troy
Disclaimer: The characters and world they are in belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this fan fiction. Honest.
Pairing: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger. Post Voldemort's WWWII (Wizarding World War II), so Miss Granger is no longer a student. No squickiness there. Read on to find out the rest.
Rating: The Fanfiction.net version is a strong PG-13. My view is if you can watch Buffy, then you can probably read this. Other archived versions will include much darker violence and consensual adult situations (yeah, sex) and will be labeled NC-17. That won't happen until far later chapters, and I'll try to include the link to the alternatives if anyone is interested. Since FF.Net is now a prudish prat when it comes to such things.
Archive: Sure, knock yourself out. Just keep author's name in tact and don't change anything. I think that's pretty much a given. No need to directly e-mail the author and ask. She'd just say yes anyway.
A/N: Although this involves a collar, there isn't any real BDSM (if you don't know what that is then don't worry). Hermione isn't likely to begin brandishing a whip, so my apologies if that disappoints you. The beginning (and other parts) is purposefully fashioned after Silence of the Lambs. I fancy Snape as a Hannibal like prisoner and Hermione as the fresh agent Starling. It is, in fact, where the idea for this plot first bloomed. Then, as all plot bunnies tend to do, it multiplied at an astounding rate. Booyah.
Chapter I
Once More
It glinted at him in a manner entirely too reminiscent of the Dark Lord's eyes for comfort, and so he had turned away from it. Of course, the collar made its presence felt regardless. Tickled him on the edge of his consciousness, tempting and repulsing him at the same time.
Had he fallen to this? Was there nothing they would leave him? No shred of dignity?
That impetuous little imp. Oh, some things may have changed. The bushy head of hair may have been smoothed down, domesticated into a frigid bun that twisted tightly above her head in a manner all to reminiscent of Minerva for his liking. The business casual robes that covered her neatly neck to foot cut in a flattering manner against her soft curves. Curves, he was detested to admit, that he had not seen for many a year and his eyes welcomed against his mind's better judgment.
Clever little witch.
Of course, she always had been. Granger. His bane, for seven full years, hand always up and waving ferociously. Apt to draw attention to her intellect, a vain girl in that regards. Nearly as vain as himself at that age, but with a reign on that fierce temper he had seen evident twice. The furious red welt on Draco's cheek nearly matching the Malfoy's enraged gray eyes, and then again when she had lost that cool detachment in battle and sent dozens of hexes at anything that moved towards Weasley or Potter. Every inch a Gryffindor chit.
She had, in many ways, reminded him of Evans. Both Mudbloods. Both with a natural affinity for magic regardless of their status at birth. Spitting in the face of purebloods with their test scores. Both were righteously moral, upstanding, defenders of whomever they perceived as weak or treated unfairly. He resented them both for those very reasons, and that had not changed in all his years. Doubtless it ever would, despite all the morality Dumbledore had attempted to shove down his tame little Death Eater's throat.
His fist curled on itself as he even recalled Dumbledore's name. In a sense, he had known this was always one possible outcome. However, he had blindly trusted the old man. Just as he had believed the anti-muggle rhetoric of the Dark Lord before that. More the fool was he. Twice over, in fact.
And now it seemed they had found a need for him again after all these years locked away and forgotten. Dangling the same carrot before his nose. Freedom, redemption, exoneration, whatever they choose to call it. Whatever word sounded the prettiest to them. To Snape, they were but little petals falling one by one, cringed and brown tattered things of a once velvet red texture. Ideals, sadly, were like that once they fluttered away on an acrid breeze of reality. Although he had never held many of them. Those he did Snape had used to see him through his hellish road paved with blood and shadow.
How was he repaid? This. This festering stink hole of the scum of wizard kind, where they undoubtedly felt he belonged to rot and fester. Rot and fester he had. Even without the Dementors to suck away his happiness, Snape never possessed much to begin with. His phantoms were all the Dementors he needed.
If they had felt him a pessimistic, paranoid, vindictive, and difficult man before-- well, they hadn't seen anything of Snape yet.
Bastards.
The collar hummed again, even through the ward. Snape glared stubbornly at the wall before him, unwilling to turn around and acknowledge its existence. It was insulting and degrading. Ironic, that. He snorted into the blackness around him. Granger would probably get a right kick out of him wearing the thing. Following her around, forced to obey every command, sniffing out the trail of his former students and friend like some sort of bloody hound dog.
They must have been very desperate to resort to this. Releasing him, even with such a precaution. He was, after all, a trained weapon. Taught by both sides, walking the line between them in a fashion none of the rest ever could. Dumbledore must have realized that if there was any way to break the enchantment, Snape was the most likely to find it. Or perhaps Lupin, but that was a moot point. The werewolf was already broken in.
A tickling on his leg made his lips pull back into a scowl, before he reached down with one long arm and brushed away whatever creature had decided to crawl onto him. He hated this place. That, alone, was the only reason the collar seemed tempting. Even if it meant giving Granger a leash on him. At least it would involve walking about in daylight. Food that was fit for eating. A bed without the company of questionable vermin.
Still a prison, but he had been entrapped since he took the Mark. He was used to imprisonment in all forms, physical or otherwise. At least before he had the sanctuary of Potions and research. Now that was stripped, like everything else, and he was forced to stare at stone walls and listen to the rants and ravings of those already driven mad from their time before. Tedious days, melding together into simple patters of life that was exceedingly dull. Nothing but his thoughts to occupy the endless minutes.
With a suffering sigh, he flipped onto his back with a small creak of protest from the cot and stared up towards the ceiling. It came down to a choice. Surrender what little bit of his tattered dignity he had managed to retain through out it all, or suffer silently behind cold prison walls with only the wails of agony to keep him company. Snape gritted his teeth together. Bastards.
If he was actually granted what had been promised this time, the first thing he would do, he decided, would be to march into the Minister's office and give him a piece of his ruddy mind. Perhaps a bit immature, but Merlin knew Dumbledore had it coming. The next thing he would do, would be to move the hell out of Britain. Perhaps the Americas, though the thought of living with the Yanks was distasteful, better than to reside here. Find a bit of land cut off from the outside world, surely a country so big had some piece of solitary forest he could sequester himself away in, and then pick up where his research had left off.
If his notes were even in tact.
Of course, there was no guarantee they wouldn't simply throw him back into Azkaban once he had located the five wanted fugitives. What was one more Death Eater locked away and forgotten about? Especially one of his notoriety. And to be forced to endure such humiliation before hand, was that worth a walk under the sky with the grass beneath his feet?
Yes, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, definitely worth it.
Snape ruthlessly told the weak little whisper to sod off. Last time he listened to it, he ended up in Dumbledore's office showing off his quaint little mark. And he knew where that had led him. Who needed a conscience anyhow. They were for Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Not Slytherins, or driven Ravenclaws. Certainly not for cold hearted bastards named Severus Snape.
He tilted his head and stared at the collar he couldn't see, but certainly felt. There was power over a person infused within it's cool leather. Like Imperius, but allowing the wearer a clear vision and mental faculties as they bowed to obedience. It was a choice to wear it, therefore made it legal. In the muddy ways right and wrong blended together. Imperius, bad. Enslavement collar, bad unless Ministry sanctioned. Hypocrisy at it's finest.
Snape found it humorous that this little scheme, undoubtedly dreamt up by Granger herself, came from a woman who had once fought tirelessly to free House Elves. It seemed the Gryffindor motto of necessary evil for the greater good had infected even her rigorous moral standards. He had no doubt she wouldn't abuse it, like most of the Slytherins he had known and taught. Simply wasn't in her.
Still, it would be a temptation. Treat the horrid old bat the way he had treated her. Payback. Snape had no doubts retribution was a trait everyone, even the noblest of Gryffindors, had in spades. And there was no wrath more fearsome than not only that of a woman, but one who viewed herself as justified. He shivered at the implications.
Though there was little Granger could do to him that would measure up to anything the Dark Lord had done. Dumbledore had done. The foolish band of Marauder misfits had done. Potter had done. Both generations. What was one more name? One more person to loathe and dream of retaliating in a most gruesome and highly uncivilized fashion. Of course, Snape would probably never end up doing it, more the pity to him, but fantasizing was vastly pleasurable.
Besides, he didn't have much else in this hell.
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He stared at her as dispassionately as ever, aloof in his solitary cell. The collar remained where she had placed it the night before, though Hermione hadn't expected it to move. She had given the guards very explicate instructions not to touch it.
She crossed over to the chair, picking it off the seat and curling her fingers around it before looking up. "Well?"
"No pleasantries?" He asked, in that snide mightier-than-thou voice of his. "No common courtesies, Miss Granger?"
Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but pursed her lips instead. Then, with a slight accommodating tilt of the head, she acquiesced to his wish for civility. "Forgive my manners, Professor. Good morning, I trust your evening was restful?"
He snorted and resumed leaning on the stone wall in much the same stance as the night before. "I think we both know it was not." He folded his arms and gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. "But thank you for the inquiry."
"Your welcome, Professor." She replied dryly. "Now, to business."
"Ah yes." His eyes shifted to the collar in her hand. "I've given the matter some amount of consideration..."
He paused then, and Hermione waited several moments. When nothing more was forthcoming, she lifted her eyebrows. "And?"
He seemed pleased, if the quirk at the side of his lips was anything to go by, and continued. "And, I've decided to take you up on your generous offer."
Relief washed through her like a palatable tide rising over her toes despite the sarcasm dripping from his words. She let out a small breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
Suddenly, the relief fled as Snape held up a single index finger. "With certain conditions."
"All due respect, Professor, I don't believe you are in any position to set terms." Hermione replied evenly.
A slight smirk graced his lips. "Oh, but I think I am. You'll find them quite reasonable, Miss Granger."
Seeing he was apparently not about to change his mind, Hermione crossed her arms and regarded him with reservation. "Go on then."
"First, and most importantly, wearing that," he pointed with disdain towards the leather ring dangling from her finger tips, "does not make me your personal slave. I will not do menial tasks, Miss Granger. If you so much as ask me to fetch your slippers, I will demand to be brought back to my cell."
Hermione was insulted by the implications, and she knew it must have shown on her face. "The thought never crossed my mind, Professor."
"No, I didn't think it had, Miss Granger. I merely want the understanding." He replied without apology. In fact, he seemed more irritated by the response, as if he had expected something like it, and was unhappy that his prediction proved correct. Did he want her to fight him on that point? It was very confusing. Then again, this was Snape.
"You have it then." She said in clipped words.
He seemed ever the bastard, smirking with her agitation. "Second, I wish to be allowed a bath. A very long, uninterrupted, bath. A decent meal. And, clothes I was accustomed to."
"Easily done." Hermione answered without hesitation. They were, as he had said, very reasonable conditions. Ones she herself might set. "Anything else?"
"Your trust in my decisions on this goose chase. If I'm to be hunting them down, I do not need you second guessing and questioning my every move." He peered down at his nails, which seemed to have grown quite a bit longer than she remembered he had kept them. How strange, she reflected quietly, that she should remember such an insignificant thing about him as his well manicured nails. "I will be a bit lenient on this point. I vividly recall your nature to ask an absurd amount of questions and imparting your thorough knowledge on any subject. I find it unlikely to have changed in the years since I had you in class."
Down again to little Know It All Granger then. Hermione herself would be the first to admit to anyone that she had been enthusiastic as a child. Especially to share what she had worked so hard to learn. Hand in the air, flapping madly, was the way she had done things up until her forth year. After that, it was a quiet pride of doing things right the first time. Preparation and study before every class had helped tremendously, but she did have a natural gift towards Charms and Transfiguration.
In Potions, however, she could have shined. It was right down her branch of learning. Memorization of not only a list of items and proper mixing directions, but a baser understanding of the ingredients and their properties when mixed with one another. Hermione had always believed that, given a different teacher, she could have excelled. As it was, Snape had even taken that pleasure away from her.
While all her other Hogwarts Professors had encouraged her, Snape was never one of them. He had sneered and insulted Hermione more than any other Gryffindor, with the exception of Harry and Neville. He took glee in pointing out her mistakes, blowing them out of proportion and calling her intelligence to question. When there was nothing wrong-- every i dotted and every t crossed, he would send her malicious glares as he rounded her cauldron. Letting her know she had only to slip, and he would be there to point and smirk condescendingly as she fell.
She often wondered to herself, usually late at night as she was double checking every word in her Potion's essay, whether it was because her parents were muggles. She would then chide herself for being unfair, after all, he was a scholar. Then, she had learned of his Mark. Even if he was a spy, she realized that meant at one time he held Voldemort's beliefs. He may have even participated in muggle sport. It was a disturbing revelation that made her that more emboldened to prove to Snape that muggle born witches could be every bit as good at potions as purebloods.
Hermione had to give Snape some credit, she had learned the subject very well. Good enough to go on to Mediwizardry after leaving Hogwarts. Hermione had even received the title as Potions Mistress for her research on a magical enhancement potion. Rather like amplifying whatever spell was cast on an object. Experimenting with the potion as a core in wands was currently underway, and highly restricted by the Ministry.
However, any pleasure she may have taken from the honorific was denied. Snape had already been sentenced and served time in Azkaban. She doubted he knew of her title, and to point it out to him would doubtlessly remind him of that young eleven year old girl. Desperately seeking his approval and even compliments.
It would be a cold day in hell when Severus Snape complimented Hermione Granger on anything.
"The reason you're getting out of this cell is to guide the investigation. It would be rather pointless for me to bring you along otherwise, wouldn't you say?" Hermione asked.
Snape waved his hand. "Then I am at your disposal."
Hermione went to the end of the wards, where a small metal drawer was pushed out. She placed the collar into it, and slammed it shut with a great shove. It rang out in the hallway, echoing to the end, as it opened on the opposite side to Snape.
He straightened off the wall, peering down into the drawer with obvious hesitation. His eyes fixed and glaring at the object within, condemning it's very existence. As if captured in time, his hand slowly reached down and a moment later lifted with his fingers curled around the leather collar. He hesitated only another few seconds, before bringing it up against his neck. He curled the leather around the strong tendons visible on his slim neck, and with deft fingers folded the end within the silver buckle.
As soon as the piece was secured and he dropped his hands away, the collar retracted around him. Melting against him like a second skin. The end of the strap merged into the main, and then the buckle slowly faded from view. It was now a single black ring about the pale flesh, standing out as much as his hair and eyes.
Snape tilted his head side to side experimentally, and the collar shifted with his muscles, as if spandex instead of leather. Apparently satisfied it would not inhibit motion, he stood calmly again and folded his long arms across his chest. Eyes again meeting her own, all the loathing in the world contained within the black glinting orbs.
"A small test then?" Hermione suggested lightly. She had no doubt that it was charmed correctly. Still, it never hurt to make certain.
Snape said nothing and merely waited for her to continue.
Hermione absently nibbled on her lower lip as she considered what she should have him do. Something completely out of character for him. Something he would never normally say. "Tell me, something you admire about Harry Potter."
His eyes narrowed into tiny slits of rage. In a quiet, angry hiss, he answered nearly automatically. "His relationships with others."
Hermione blinked. "What do you mean by his relationships?"
"I mean," Snape snapped irritably, "the friendships he has. The trust given to him without reservation."
"I see." Hermione said softly. Snape's lips pressed together into a furious line. His dark glare daring her to say anything. Hermione resisted curiosity, instead focusing on the business at hand. It seemed the collar was working. "A few more commands, and then I'll have the guards come and drop the wards."
"Fine." He snarled.
"When I give you an order, you are to acknowledge it verbally, so that I know you understand." She began.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Very well."
"You are never to be out of range for me to either see you, or hear you. Unless I tell you otherwise." She continued.
"Mhm." He hummed in a flat tone.
"You will never lie, cheat, attempt to trick or physically harm me-- in any fashion."
"Understood."
"You will not try to escape." Hermione said firmly.
Snape sighed and nodded his head. "Yes, I rather figured that out on my own."
"Good." Hermione sent a genuine smile towards him, only to be met by another trademark sneer. "I'll be back with the guards, then we'll be on our way."
If Snape was excited about leaving, he certainly didn't look it. He merely leaned once more against the wall and turned his head away from Hermione. She did notice, before she turned to walk back down the corridor, that a finger had reached up and stroked the surface of his collar. As if assuring himself it was really there. She saw a brief flash of doubt cross his features as he frowned lightly, then his hand dropped away and he continued to stare at the wall with a emotionless mask that all Slytherins seemed to wear.
Hermione found the sight had left an impression on her as she went to fetch the guards. Whatever she had expected to feel when Snape had bound himself, she had not foreseen pity. Indifference, perhaps, to his agreement. The pity, and even a bit of guilt, felt unsettling in her stomach. She swallowed reflexively as she climbed the stone staircase. He was a man, not an animal, even if his crimes were heinous. Even if he had tormented them all for years, he was still a human.
Humans were not meant for captivity.
She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. It was for the best, really. The others would be apprehended, she had no doubt of that, and he would be pardoned. The collar was merely a precaution. Just to make sure he didn't try to escape before hand. If she could have secured his release in her custody without it, she certainly would have taken that avenue.
She did feel he would be better off in her care rather than Ron or Harry's. Even Dumbledore's, though she suspected the old wizard had a soft spot when it came to Snape. He never believed for a moment Snape had been a turncoat, and he had voiced that opinion at his trial to the dismay of nearly every witch and wizard that had been present. Hermione wasn't quite as sure of Snape's innocence. Dumbledore hadn't spent seven years in Potions class with the man, after all.
Snape was capable of anything. It wasn't so much his disposition towards cruelty that made him dangerous, but rather his incredible intelligence and Slytherin cunning. He was as ruthless as they came, no doubt about that, and like anyone else, he had a healthy dose of self preservation. Yet sometimes, she had to admit, there were pieces missing from the Ministry's explanation of events. Gaps in what the trial had tried to paint as a clear picture.
To be fair, so much of those final days in the war had been a complete mess. It was difficult picking up the pieces, finding out just what had happened. Eye witness accounts had always been slightly unreliable. Colored by distorted memories or even bias. Pensives had been used, but not allowed as evidence. Harry himself had been confused after the final chaotic days of the war, and unclear as to what had happened other than his brief captivity and escape from Malfoy Manor, and the final duel with Voldemort.
Still, the eleven year old Hermione had balked to see Snape, a fierce and powerful wizard in his own right, caged so. The piece of her that always fought for the rights of every species had winced as he touched the collar, despite the logical arguments she made to herself. It may have been the only way, but she still felt damned for taking it.
Hermione was determined not to abuse it. For all Snape's faults and crimes, he didn't deserve to be treated unfairly. Ironic as that may have been to Hermione, who had suffered from his stinging words and Slytherin bias for seven years.
It was with that solemn vow in her head that she finally reached the small guard station. A few uttered words, another document, and four guards were following her back down into the dark depths of Azkaban.
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