Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I just enjoy writing stories about them. I make no profit.
Note: Thanks to all who are reading this story. This is just a little fic that has kind of caught my mind in that it is less mushy that what I would normally write. I am currently working on the Death Eater Chronicals and this story has been a great way for me to kind of play around with this dark side. Reviews, tips and comments always welcome.
Caught
Severus Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back a headache. He'd been writing letters and reports for quite a while now, the puddle of wax on his desk suggested that it had taken up the last several hours of his time. He knew he should rest, but wars were won just as much on the wings of owls as in the field. So he stayed, scratching quill to parchment with the hopes he could get a few hours of sleep in before the sun rose.
The sudden intrusion in his tent by his guards carrying three captives wasn't surprising nor worth the effort to look up from what he was doing – it was an annoyance at best. Idiots. He finished his next few sentences then acknowledged his present company. The captives were bound and gagged, forced to their knees in front of his large cherry wood desk. The two boys were hardly grown, perhaps 15 or so and scared – they had both emptied their bladders in the process of being captured. When his eyes settled on the girl, he almost couldn't believe them. Oh this is indeed turning out to be an interesting night, he smirked to himself.
Hermione stared down at the floor, doing her best not to make eye contact with Severus but at the same time doing her best to observe him from the corner of her eye. The years had been kind to him, he had not aged a minuet despite the heaviness of his duties. She had heard he had been promoted after Harry's death, more responsibility and more extreme punishments should things go wrong. He had weathered it well, his long black hair cascading down the sides of his face – his robes immaculate as always. It was hard to tell if he recognized her by just reading his features, though she was sure her presence did not go unnoticed.
"Slit the boys' throats and leave the girl." His voice was deep and sure, leaving no room for argument from his men. With no hint of emotion he turned back to his writing and continued his letter.
The knives were quick no sound escaped the twins' lips as they lay on the floor gargling in their own blood. Hermione shut her eyes only briefly to blink a tear away, careful to maintain her almost catatonic like state staring at the floor. She had known it would come to this, but all men die and the boys had been given a quick and painless death. Albus was at least right about this, but their blood is on my hands not his, she conceded. As the Death Eaters left dragging the bodies of her friends with them, their presence was replaced by the incessant scratching of quill on parchment.
She took a moment to reflect on what her life had been the last several years. It had been one of hiding, running, near misses and narrow escapes. She had suffered, she had triumphed and she had lost. Whatever had brought her to this point it had been a culmination of moves that she had agreed to, but had wished she hadn't. She didn't fight the stream of tears that made their way down her face now. . . . she no longer mourned the dead – death she had to live with, her tears came in truth because she could sense that was what Severus wanted to see. Her gut told her that she was still the young fresh woman of 4 years ago in his mind, and that this assumption would be her key in. It had been 4 long years since they had last been in the same room, and the Hermione he had worked with – even flirted with, was gone. In her place was a woman who only looked the same.
Severus had long finished what he was doing and moved to lean against the front of his desk when Hermione's tears had started to flow. He crossed his arms and observed her intently. She looked worn and tired – her air of school girl innocence had vanished and in its place there was a woman, shaped by her environment. He liked her this way. The know-it-all worrying about petty test scores and extra points had annoyed him beyond anything else in her lack of substance– deflected him from her real assets, her intelligence and wit. The woman who knelt before him was tragically beautiful, with blood splattered on her face and the dirt in her hair. She had lived, killed, lost and suffered – just as he had . . . and she was apparently good at it. Reports had reached him of her stealth and knowledge of magic, this was how he could save her from a fate worse than death – if she would allow it of course. Though looking at her now, it was hard for him to heed those reports, she looked barely capable of hurting anything, much less killing.
At some point her mind registered the fact that the quill had stopped and with that she lifted her gaze to the man in front of her. His dark eyes were observing her as if she were a priceless painting. She felt naked and vulnerable – the tears hadn't helped that – and that was good real emotion was always the best. She turned her large brown eyes to meet his cold dark ones.
"Your friends were of no value to me Miss Granger, you can be happy that theirs was a quick and painless death. My Death Eaters will surely rue the fact that I didn't release the boys into their. . . . care."
His voice was silky and intense; it washed over Hermione giving her a sense of familiarity. Flashes of 6th year double potions came into her mind, and she remembered the man she had both feared and revered from another life. His misinterpretation of her tears was tender. She gave him a look of measured defiance, which seemed to spark something in the stoic man. Gotcha, she smirked to herself.
Severus couldn't stop thinking about how erotic she looked, on her knees at his mercy. She still has her spirit, he thought. Though he reminded himself he had to treat her with caution. "I will give you two choices. Should you wish for death tonight, I promise it to be swift. I have no . . . . ." he searched for the word, ". . . interest in watching you suffer. However, I would rather not waste a brilliant mind. Should you choose to live, I shall make sure you are well looked after." Her eyes flickered in response, she's considering it, he smiled to himself. "Of course you will have to . . . . give me certain things so that I can ensure your safety." Not just your mind but your body, soul, if I cannot have you then no man will.
Silence fell in the tent as they gazed at each other intently – trying to determine the depths of the other's mind. Once Severus was content that she had had sufficient time to consider his offer he took a small blade from an inner pocket of his robes and cut her loose. She spat out the gag and rubbed her wrists in turn, allowing the blood to flow freely back into her tingling fingers. Looking down at the girl Severus couldn't believe the tales he'd heard about her killing men with a silent curse or burying a knife silently in their backs – she was so small and delicate – and yet something about her was suspiciously and deliciously different.
She rose to her full height and brushed herself off. She was taller than he remembered and her face had rounded out, her large saucer like brown eyes the only part of her that hadn't been altered as she had matured. When she turned them to meet his gaze he nearly exhaled out loud, she was inches from him. She smelled of earth and fresh grass. Severus raised his hand to her hair lightly brushing the tips of his fingers across her cheek as he went to remove some bits of dirt entangled in her mess of hair. She didn't need to say anything for Severus to understand what she wanted. "You are filthy, Miss Granger." He breathed so that only she and he could hear it.
"My ribs are broken as well." She replied with a disarming smirk. It was true, she had indeed been favoring that side slightly. Though it seemed to matter little to her as she stood so close to him she could feel his heat. She had forgotten how intoxicating he was, how easily he got under her skin with a few words, a slight motion. It wasn't until she felt his hand press into her lower back and followed his lead into the private chambers of his tent was she content that this ever vigilant man had indeed dropped his guard.