Animal Magnetism

Disclaimer: I, sadly, own nothing of the Harry Potter 'Verse. I just like to play with them time to time. Especially Severus.

Chapter 17

After one week she was still shocked that she felt so vibrant and satisfied without feeding off another's' blood or energy. And she'd been spending a lot of her days hunting Death Eaters or training in her private quarters [she had to share the Room of Requirement with Harry]. It was almost odd now not to have that hollow ache in her gut, though in retrospect she realized it had just shifted to her heart. Though that was an easier ache to forget for her, like the restlessness. She was used to that inner conflict by now, half of her wanting one thing but the other half disgusted by it. It was the other ache that had almost led her to kill someone… twice.

'You could always feel as good as you feel now,' a voice in her head would whisper insidiously through the week, promising she'd never again feel that other, stabbing ache, never worry about losing control again. She fought it back time and time again, telling it that if he was the price, she wasn't willing to pay it. Her life would be in shambles if she did. He didn't want her, just perhaps desired her. He'd laugh in her face if she tried for more. It growled fiercely back at her. 'And it wasn't ruined before this, feeding off your friends in fear, scrambling desperately to feed it and praying it would be enough? Fine, I'll have no problem with a blood bath after continued denial of what should rightfully be mine. Maybe it would be good for us.' The last was a combination of sulkiness and threats. The underlying insanity chilled her.

"I'd rather feed off a dozen random souls a night than crawl to him," she gritted from behind clenched teeth. 'He didn't make you crawl last time, you did that one your own and loved it.' She knew it took pleasure from her disgust and shame. 'And you'd really rather prowl through town or attack your friends again? You know Ron's not strong enough, and Harry's not satisfying your needs as well anymore. Not to mention the fact that your mental grip on him is slipping. He'll find out you be-spelled him all those times eventually- then what would he say?' Hermione scowled.

"I don't need a lecture from a beast. And anything's better than Snape. He's a Death Eater. And he hates me. He'll destroy me!" She just got a hiss in return. 'We are one. We are a hybrid of great power, not a beast. And though our mate is strong, he is not a danger to us. If he truly hated, he would not have bent to our charms.' "Don't call him that!" She snapped, growing uncomfortable with the turn in conversation... and with talking to herself… it… whatever, in general. She could almost sense a smug grin, as if it knew it was getting to her. "I am strong too, I can resist the pull." 'But he makes us stronger, more ourselves. Do you not feel more centered around him?' "Quite the opposite," the witch denied stubbornly. It sighed, the spoke no more.

A little bit lost, Hermione sat on the edge of her bed. She did have to admit his presence was somewhat soothing deep inside, that he may make her lose her mind, but he gave it back to her in spades too. Admitting it just felt like giving in, giving up, being weak. She shouldn't need him to remain sane. There had to be more than that one wizard whose magic aligned with hers just as well, who could sustain her and fulfill her desires. She kicked the wall out of helplessness, knowing it was a very small chance. Could even that dozen she'd brought up before be enough after this? Probably not. "Damn it." How could she hold up to his advances now? He'd been trying all week to get to her and she'd had to use her special abilities to avoid him, but she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to for much longer. So what happened now?

The dreams were only getting worse too. More extensive, more graphic, more passionate… more everything. She shivered. She didn't know how much more she could take. Spinning around and around in her own mind, she didn't feel it at first, but the probe expanded and her eyes widened as other things started resurfacing. And the familiarity of that probe stunned her. Someone was trying to read her mind. Hermione's brow furrowed and she hurriedly closed her mind with all her strength while she simultaneously traced the magical signature. Snape. "That snake!" Angrily she leapt up. He'd probably been at it all along, digging in her skull. Fine, he wanted an audience, he'd get one. 'To the dungeons.'

'I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!' Roiled furiously in her mind as she stomped down the corridors to his office. 'If I were to splay you out on my desk and thrust my fingers into you right now, I think I'd find different,' echoed back, shocking her so much she froze outside his door. Especially as it was said with *his* low, sardonic tones with a strong hint of sensuality. Looking through the panes of glass, she saw him look up to meet her gaze with a slow, seductive, smile. His eyes smoldered with an unequivocally sexual heat that said he knew exactly what was running through her mind at that moment.

Holding that gaze, she walked through the door and closed it behind her, walking up to him in long, steady steps. "You were in my head today. I want to know why." The ex-spy pulled her onto his desk, causing the papers to be shuffled aside. Squeaking, not liking the vulnerable position she was put into, she shifted her legs so she was evenly seated. "Don't you know?" he squeezed her thighs, pulling her closer with an effortless strength that made her heart race. Now he lay between her legs, sliding his hands over her. The Potions' Master was in a dangerous mood today. Why did she allow this? Oh yea, it was inexplicably arousing and it froze her in place.

Subconsciously licking her lips, she watched his eyes darken before he raised his head to fiercely claim a kiss. Her dominant position lasted a bare second. A subtle shift in his hold and he had her in his lap, her legs on either side of him, the damp heat between her thighs pressed to the rigid line of his cock. Gasping at the sudden electric contact, it took her a second to realize the way she was splayed out with her arms and such, his desk looking pretty haphazard. "I'm messing up your papers," she murmured stupidly against lips that had haunted her days and tempted her to the sweetest sins in her dreams.

He moved up his hand to close over her breast. A shock of sensation. Her spine arched. "I'll take recompense for your misdemeanor in flesh. Are you ready to pay?" A question full of erotic cruelty that made her survival instincts ripple in fear. When his teeth closed over the pulse in her neck and his hands ripped away her top to leave her upper body bare, she gripped his shoulders and hung on. Then those strong white teeth moved lower. Her stomach swirled with an addictive mix of fear and desire. "Severus." He flicked out his tongue, one hand on her back, the other plumping up her breast so he could lave the nipple with a slow focus that had her entire body going taut in expectation.

She could feel him in her mind, slipping in as desire short-circuited her defenses. She nipped his lip, frustrated enough to act on instinct. His eyes turned to midnight as he lifted his head, his thumb brushing over the peak he'd aroused to throbbing readiness. "No," she whispered. "No. This is not why I came." She pushed away. "But you will come," he whispered seductively, grabbing for her again. He silenced her protests with a kiss, mouth consuming hers, tongue tasting, plundering, and savage with his desire. He was like a tempest, a sudden firestorm out of the night, his fever so electric it charged throughout her instantly.

She wanted to protest his violence but in the end she could only match it. His subtle, masculine scent seemed to overwhelm her sense with temptation. . Then her arms curled around him, fingers teasing through the hair at his nape and working into his shoulders as she subconsciously drew him closer. Her mouth parted sweetly, accepting then meeting the fevered urgency of his hunger. He broke from her lips at last to look down at her. Her eyes were heavy-lidded from passion, lashes dancing like prisms against her cheeks. Her mouth was slightly parted, lips damp, sensually swollen. At her throat, her pulse leaped and raced…

She had dreamed of him so many times; she breathed him in now. Felt him. His hands on her face, his mouth liquid fire. And it was good. Engulfing, overwhelming, sensation so sweet she couldn't think to protest. An alarm within her warned her that she should be asking questions, protesting, talking first, but… It had been one thing not to know love. But now she had known him, lived with him, ached for him, loved him, and he was here… that was all that mattered. The feel of his lips, even angry, hungry; the touch of his hands, even rough with the same desire… his hands moved and buttons seemed to melt away. Clothing fell, his lips barely breaking from hers. She was more awkward, her hands tugging at the wool. He was definitely better off naked.

Yet it was she who stood naked first, and finally his lips left her, trailing along her throat. He lowered his head with a hoarse and desperate groan, pressing his lips against the fragile blue vein. His hand lay upon her bodice, rounding the fullness of her breast beneath. He thumbed her nipple through the fabric, closed his mouth upon it. Her fingers knotted in his hair as teased her nipple to a hardened tip, then licked, sucked and bathed that tip until it seemed that the sensation streaked right through her body, bringing a red-hot hunger. Her thighs parted under the gentle pressure of his weight, and his fingers stroking between them. A soft moan escaped her, creating a soft whisper at his ear; she was supple and pliant to his will, with a sinuous undulation beginning to stir within her at his touch.

She was warm, wet. She whispered his name, tugged at his hair, but he ignored her as he kissed her belly, dropping to his knees. He drew her abdomen flush to his face and planted tiny kisses lower and lower. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her knees buckled. She came down before him, shaking, seeking his lips and shoulders with her kiss, eager to touch and taste him everywhere, lay her face against his chest and feel the smoothness and fire of his flesh. Arouse him, excite him, torment him and he tormented her. Her fingers closed fully around his sex, stroked… His mouth crushed hers, and she was suddenly off her feet, flat on the bed, and she felt the half-discarded wool of his pants scratch her thighs but it didn't matter; at that point every touch seemed like just another tongue of fire.

She met his eyes as he sank into her, very slowly at first, watching her all the while. She couldn't close her eyes, couldn't look away. She gasped slightly as she shuddered with a sudden convulsion. With a swift thrust he went deeper still, and she came alive, writhing to the thunderous rhythm that gripped him and swept them up together. She moved with a wickedly graceful rhythm that sheathed and aroused him again and again, and he fell back upon her with greater ardor, rising to a precipice, falling back, only to immediately rise again. Reckless, wild, desperate, she clung to him, seeking and knowing what she sought, reaching and feeling the ecstasy take her at last, exploding into a climax that kept her trembling and convulsing with little aftershocks long after she felt the fierce constriction of his body shuddering throughout her own…

Next chapter:

The few words he'd whispered resonated in the empty space as she shifted and twisted uncomfortably. The pajamas selected for the night were not comfy enough- yea, that was it. It wasn't her guilty conscious. So she twisted out of the pajamas. And there she lay naked. The cool covers kept her feeing safe amid the houseful of strangers outside her walls.