A/N: Of course, when Severus said in the last chapter that no one had ever moved him like a piece of furniture, he didn't know how Sirius had moved him along the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, with his head bumping the roof …

Sorry I missed updating last weekend, but I was ill. Hope you lot aren't angry with me! Here's another chapter, in penance! :)


For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 33: The Offer

She floated in a haze of titillation, pleasure flooding her synapses, drawing murmurs of arousal from her lips. Her breasts were being caressed, pinched, licked, suckled, and her quim was a morass of heat and need. She arched into the hands upon her body, squirming, wanting, and slowly, she awoke, realizing that it was not a dream: Someone was making love to her.

Eyes open, she was met with the impenetrable darkness she associated with Professor Snape's dungeon quarters. Yes, now she remembered. She was sleeping in his bed, and he was caressing her.

'Hello,' she said, stroking his hair.

He answered by exerting more pressure on the nipple he was suckling, a growl of pleasure accompanying this vocalisation.

'Are you feeling better, then?' she asked, concerned.

'Shut up, or I shall gag you,' he sniped, and she was happy to comply.

In the velvet dark, he pleasured her for an immeasurable time, his lips and hands at her breasts, his hair brushing over her flesh as he moved his head. She endured in a heightened state of arousal, moving her hips as close to his body as she could manage, desperate for his touch on her quim. He seemed unaware of her need, his leisurely enjoyment of her breasts sufficient for his wants.

With a bit of desperation, she began to caress his face, his arms and shoulders, all of him she could reach. She was half out of her mind with need for him to touch her there, and it seemed to her as if he was taking much too long to get there.

Suddenly, his lips left her nipple and his hands grasped her arms, pushing them up over her head with an impatient utterance. She felt the familiar, welcome touch of the silken scarves at her wrists, and his voice was in her ear.

'Yield,' he breathed. 'Yield to me, pet.'

Of course, she thought. She had been trying to direct their interaction, forgetting, as she was wont to do, that in this bed, it was not her place to do so. 'Yes, sir,' she whispered.

And laying down her will, she submitted to his exquisite caresses, allowing herself once again to float along in the wake of the sensations pouring over her body, as she had done when she was sleeping. There was no need to act, no need to think, no need to decide what she ought to do. In this place, at this time, it was her part to receive what she was given, and that was her only task.

At last, his hand stroked slowly down her body, over her ribcage, one finger dipping enticingly into her navel, then he cupped her mons, giving it a squeeze.

'Do you want to come, little one?' he asked, his breath fanning over her face.

She smelled toothpaste and realised he had risen and cleaned his teeth while she slept. 'Yes, please,' she said, raising her hips beneath his hand. 'I want to come so badly.'

His lips found hers, and as his tongue teased into her mouth, his fingers mimicked his actions below, tickling over her aching clitoris.

'You've been such a good girl,' he said, the tip of his rapier tongue tracing the shell of her ear. 'No one could have asked for a more helpful partner than you proved to be tonight, Hermione. Thank you.'

Then his lips closed over hers again, no longer teasing, but in dead earnest. He kissed her with a single-minded passion she had never encountered in him before, his two long fingers thrusting inside her body as his thumb surely circled her pleasure centre. Hermione sucked greedily at his tongue, absorbing his attentions like a sponge, her legs splayed open obscenely to facilitate his ministrations. In all too short a time, she cried out, the sound muffled by his tongue in her mouth. Then her arms were released and he had pulled her into a crushing embrace, cradling her as the excess of stimulation overcame her sensibilities, and she cried into his neck, clinging to him weakly.

He held her against his too thin body, murmuring comforting noises, one large hand stroking her hair, over and over. When she was quiet, he shifted so that they lay face-to-face, and the candles were lit. She blinked, and he watched her intently.

'I believe you had some questions,' he said neutrally.

Hermione smiled and stroked her fingertips over his beard stubbled cheek. Questions? Had she wanted to ask him about something? It felt as if her brain had been turned to mush. 'What time is it?' she asked, failing to remember anything else she wanted to know.

He snorted. 'Are you sure you want to use your period of free questions for such twaddle?' he asked. Nevertheless, he twisted away from her briefly to consult the clock. 'It's half-five,' he informed her.

As Hermione's eyes accustomed to the dim light, her brain seemed to kick back into gear. 'Did Miss Smith give you these injuries?' she inquired, her fingertip tracing the outline of the scar on his abdomen.

His lips twisted, as if he might chuckle. 'Hardly,' he said. 'My appointment with Miss Smith was interrupted by the Dark Lord's summons.' His expression darkened.

'Did … did he hurt you?' Hermione asked.

'Not this time,' her professor answered. His voice was rather terse, but he did nothing to discourage her from continuing to ask questions.

'Will you tell me how you were injured?' she asked diffidently, watching his face closely.

'My presence was required for a planning session,' he said. 'The Dark Lord is of the opinion that his Death Eaters can no longer be spared for such trivialities as serving time in prison. Four of them were being held at the Ministry of Magic; the others are in Azkaban.'

Hermione frowned. 'You said four were being held at the Ministry … are they no longer there?'

Her professor grimaced and indicated the wound scar, which was healing nicely. 'Avery's Blasting Curse was rather poorly concentrated,' he said bitterly. 'A rather large chunk of rock caught me there.' He shook his head. 'Travers, who was in the holding cell, was struck in the head by flying debris; he may not recover. Perhaps next time, the Dark Lord will listen to my suggestion of how to go about it.'

Hermione swallowed, her mind awhirl. She knew this man, her Dominant—my Master, her heart insisted—was a Death Eater, acting upon the Headmaster's orders, pretending to be loyal to Voldemort while acting as Dumbledore's spy. But he helped Death Eaters escape from Magical Law Enforcement? How could he?

'Are you sorry you asked?' he said quietly.

Hermione looked into his face, seeing the expression there, somewhere between fear and resignation. What was he expecting from her? 'No, I'm not sorry,' she said. 'I wanted to know.'

The professor pushed himself into a sitting position, propped against the headboard. 'Hermione,' he said gravely, 'I think we both know this—' he motioned between them 'is a bad idea. I ought never to have permitted it to begin. In another time and place, it might have been appropriate, but with the war looming …'

Hermione watched him fearfully, terror immobilising her, so that she looked up at him from her pillow. Dear Merlin, why did she have to love him so? The emotion was so big it felt as if it were impeding her ability to breathe. 'Are you sorry?' she asked in a small voice.

His eyes warmed as he watched her. 'I cannot be sorry,' he admitted. 'Training you has been a joy—a bright spot in an otherwise dreary existence.' He reached down to stroke her cheek, and she closed her eyes beneath his touch. 'The war is imminent, pet,' he said, and the intimacy of his tone emboldened her to scramble up and wrap her arms about his torso, burying her face in his shoulder. 'It is possible that at any time going forward, I will be required to leave Hogwarts—to declare myself in the eyes of the world as the Dark Lord's adherent—and when that happens, I will be forced to leave you behind.'

Hermione clung to him and nodded her head. 'I understand that,' she said against his throat, her voice muffled.

'If you were wise,' he said flatly, 'you would renounce your association with me. The memory of this would give you some measure of protection from the Dark Lord.'

Hermione did not trust herself to speak but shook her head violently.

He spoke now coaxingly. 'I would still write your letter of introduction to the D/s community in London,' he said, 'and provide you with a letter of recommendation, as well.'

Hermione pulled away from him, hurt morphing into anger. 'I don't care about your bloody letters!' she cried. 'I offered myself to you! That is all I care about. If we must be apart, then that's what happens to people in wartime! But don't talk to me about renouncing you!' She stopped, sucking in great draughts of air, feeling as if she were breathing properly for the first time since their conversation had begun. The emotion in her had not dissipated nor been diminished in any way by his words. It roiled in her like a storm at high tide, crashing about, pushing words from her that might better have been left unspoken. 'I can't leave you,' she said flatly, looking straight into his glittering black eyes. 'I am not capable of it. I would appreciate it if you would do me the courtesy of not suggesting it again.' She straightened her shoulders, her knowledge of her power in their relationship gathering about her like a shield. 'If you send me away, there is nothing I can do about that. Are you?'

He did not hesitate. His head shook once in the negative, the loose hair about his face swaying with the motion. 'I have made myself responsible for your well-being,' he replied. 'I do not make that commitment lightly.'

For the first time in their association, Hermione was the first to turn away. She slipped out of the bed and began to dress.

'You're leaving?' he asked.

'I want to shower and change before breakfast,' she answered, doing up the zip on her jeans. 'What are your plans for today?' she inquired.

He did not immediately answer, and she turned to face him. He was watching her, his beautifully formed lips pressed into a tight line. Hermione shoved her bra into her pocket and pulled her jumper over her head, wondering if he was going to speak. It felt so alien to voluntarily leave his presence, but it was time for her to underline her autonomy—for him to see the possibility of her choosing to walk away from him.

Professor Snape rose from the bed, his lean, hard-used body naked in the December cold of the dungeon chamber. 'You made an offer to me, Hermione—an offer of your submission. Have you had second thoughts about that?'

Hermione looked fearlessly into his hawk-like face. 'I have been trying to make it clear to you that I have had no second thoughts,' she said evenly.

He stepped closer to her, his cock, which had been hard against her thigh as he finger fucked her quim, only half subsided. She smelled her secretions on the fingers which gripped her shoulders. 'Your instructions are to carefully reconsider your offer to me,' he said, sounding as if he were giving her a class assignment. 'You will not touch yourself sexually until I give you explicit permission to do so.'

Hermione nodded, schooling her expression not to give away the wild, exultant pounding of her heart in her chest.

'I will be away today—I have to visit Diagon Alley and take care of my seasonal purchases. You are to write three thousand words on the subject of the official offer of submission between a submissive and her Master.'

Hermione felt the thrill quiver through her body as he spoke that word, and she was unable to suppress the slight shudder which accompanied it.

'Tomorrow night, Christmas Eve, you are invited to my study to spend time with me. The evening's activities will be up to you. If you wish, at that time, you may initiate the ritual to offer your submission. If you prefer, we may pass the time in the mutually enjoyable activity of your choice.'

Hermione realised she had stopped breathing, and she forced herself to inhale. Then she licked her very dry lips before saying, 'And if I make my offer of submission? Will you accept it?'

He ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. 'I would not allow you to initiate the ritual, otherwise,' he said huskily.

'Why can't we do it now?' she asked, suddenly afraid that he would change his mind.

One corner of his lips quirked up. 'Thirty-six hours of careful consideration, sexual abstinence, and the writing of three thousand words on the subject will be accomplished in the meantime. Those are my terms, Hermione.'

'Then I accept your terms,' she said with great dignity, struggling to contain the great swell of joy burgeoning in her heart.

He took her hand, and in an oddly courtly gesture for a naked man with half an erection bobbing between them, he kissed her fingers. 'Until tomorrow night,' he murmured.

Hermione hurried from his quarters, erupting into the dungeon corridor with a crow of joy which greatly startled the Bloody Baron, whose sharp reprimand was entirely lost on the jubilant girl who all but skipped away.