For The Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 40: Unexpected

After a nearly sleepless night, Hermione washed her face and grabbed her bag, heading down to breakfast. She did not know when she would see Professor Snape again, but she desperately hoped he, too, would be in the Great Hall. If he made eye contact—if he acknowledged her—it would make it so much easier for her to get through the rest of her day.

She climbed down the final flight of stairs into the entrance hall, only to be brought up short by the Headmaster in the doorway of the Great Hall. He smiled his twinkling smile at Hermione, but almost instantly, his attention was distracted from her. His gaze was directed over her head, and a roguish smile touched his lips.

'Good morning, Severus,' he said in a mock-grave tone. 'How honoured we are to see you here for breakfast!'

Hermione's heart flip-flopped in her chest as her professor's colourless tones spoke from just behind her.

'Good morning, Headmaster.'

But Dumbledore's attention had already reverted to Hermione.

'And we're delighted to see you for breakfast as well, Miss Granger—of course.'

Hermione felt her face flush, but the Headmaster had already turned and begun walking toward the Head Table. Feeling faint with dread, she turned to face her professor. He, too, looked as if he had not slept well, if at all. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hair hung in greasy curtains on either side of his gaunt face. He did not give her more than a few seconds to inspect him, for he was speaking tersely, even as he moved past her.

'I would like to see you in my office directly after breakfast,' he said.

Hermione didn't bother to respond, for he swept away from her, and she found her way to the Gryffindor table. Once seated, she darted a glance to the staff table, but her professor's head was down as he stared at his plate. With a slightly unsteady hand, she served herself a spoonful of scrambled eggs and attempted to eat them, although her stomach felt as if it were full of acid. Being at odds with her Master was misery, but being in accord with him made her very soul sing. It seemed as if there was no middle ground. Either she had his approval or she did not.

Was it worth it?

This was the question which had been plaguing her all night long. Yes, he was sadistic—this was not news to her. It only made sense that his punishment of her would be designed to make her very sorry for having displeased him. For a submissive, there was no penalty more cruel than to be banished from the presence of her Master. It made her feel ill with apprehension to be outside his good graces.

So why in the name of Nimüe would she deliberately seek out a relationship that would continually place her on the knife's edge of incurring such harsh treatment? It was not the way of women in the latter half of the twentieth century to behave with such servility to the men in their lives—and it certainly was not the way of Hermione's generation to do so, whether Muggle or magical. She was a strong, capable, independent woman of exceptional skill and outstanding intelligence. Once she was fully qualified, she would be able to virtually write her own ticket in the workplace. So why would she want to kneel and crawl for Severus Snape?

She nibbled at a piece of dry toast and pushed the eggs about on her plate until they were stone cold. Then, when she saw her professor stand and leave the table, she swallowed the last of her tea and followed suit.

The only sound to be heard in the dungeon corridors as she made her way to his office was her uneven breathing. His door was open, and she entered uncertainly, her eyes immediately seeking out his face as he stood rigidly behind his desk. A jerk of his hand closed and locked the door behind her, and he spoke.

'We will not stand on ceremony in my study today,' he said quietly. 'I would like to have a discussion with you. You may speak your mind.' He swallowed, and his nostrils flared noticeably as he inhaled. 'Do you understand?'

Hermione was not comforted by this relaxation of the rules. She still felt uneasy and wrong-footed, but he was waiting for her response, so she said, 'Yes, sir,' and followed him through the glowing green doorway into the shimmering light of his study.

He moved immediately to one of the armchairs before the sofa, but Hermione automatically dropped her book bag and reached for her collar. For a sickening moment she was afraid he would tell her not to put it on, but a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that he was not watching her but staring at the wall of glass, through which the murky green depths of the lake could be seen. The collar secured, she hurried to the sofa and seated herself across from him, feeling a morass of confused emotions seething inside.

As soon as she seated herself, his eyes were on her face, and he looked her over shrewdly for a moment, his gaze lingering for a moment on her collar, before he began to speak.

'We both spent an unsatisfactory night apart, it would appear,' he said neutrally.

Hermione wasn't sure how to answer him, so she simply nodded.

'Do you have anything you would like to say to begin our discussion?' he asked, his manner that of an academic kicking off a seminar panel.

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out the thoughts which had been haunting her since she had left his rooms the night before, but at the last minute, she dropped her gaze to her hands and said, 'I would prefer to hear what you wish to say, sir.'

He was silent, and she gripped her hands tightly together, wondering if he were unhappy that she had not immediately aired her grievances. At last, she darted a glance at him and found him watching her with patient, sober eyes.

'I see,' he said. Absently, he traced the outline of his thin lips with a long finger. Finally, he straightened in his chair, and his hands gripped the armrests. 'I regret to say, Hermione, that I owe you yet another apology.'

Hermione blinked but maintained the presence of mind not to gape at him. Had he not said the selfsame words to her less than a fortnight before? A tiny loosening of anxiety eased her breathing, and she drew in a great draught of air as she waited to hear what he would say next.

His chin rose, and once again, his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. 'You are such a remarkably apt submissive that I forget you have scarcely been training for three months, and other than the last ten days, your training has been intermittent at best. As a student, you are not in a place where you can immerse yourself in the D/s lifestyle, though we have certainly played at it since the holidays began.'

The ghost of a smile touched his eyes, and Hermione's lips quirked in response, as yet another chunk of anxiety fell from her. Dear Merlin, this was the man she loved—why did he have to become so damnably intractable at times?

'Do you understand that your behaviour yesterday afternoon was unacceptable?' he asked in a reasonable tone.

Hermione sat forward earnestly. 'Yes, Master. I was unfocussed, and allowed myself to become totally sidetracked. It was very disrespectful of me.' She swallowed, remembering her remorse of the day before. 'I'm very sorry.'

He studied her, then nodded. 'I believe you are sincere. I accept your apology.'

He stood and crossed the space between them, seating himself at her side. Hermione was riveted by this action; he had not commanded her to come to him, but he had come instead to her. She felt joy rising inside of her, bubbling in her chest and around her heart. Nothing and no one in her experience had ever elicited from her the powerful emotions evoked by this man.

'Have you decided?' he asked, drawing her attention back to his face.

'Decided?' she echoed, still fighting down the glee which wanted to exit her body in giggles like the pealing of bells.

'Whether or not I'm worth it,' he said, his voice dipping to a lower register, raising gooseflesh on her arms as his fingertips tucked an errant hank of hair behind her ear.

Hermione captured his hand and nursed it to her cheek, gazing into the inky pools of his eyes, where she had lost herself more than once and wished to do again, the sooner the better. 'Oh, sir,' she whispered, her voice suddenly choked with emotion.

His head dipped, and his lips ghosted over the corner of her mouth. She gasped, turning her face to receive his kiss, but he drew back infinitesimally. 'Is that a "yes"?' he said, his coffee-scented breath fanning across her cheek.

'Yes,' she whispered, a tear of thankfulness tracking down her cheek.

His tongue darted out, capturing the salty tear, and his lips trailed down her cheek to share its flavour with her in a kiss that bordered on reverence. Hermione grasped at him, stroking his face and his hair, feeling as if she had been denied his presence for weeks rather than hours. She sucked his tongue and clung to his shoulders as if a raging tide would tear her away from him if she let go. The heat between them smouldered slowly to flame, and soon he had dragged her onto his lap, one hand stroking up beneath her jumper to fondle her breast, the other patiently undoing the zip on her jeans to creep past the elastic of her knickers. His kisses were long, slow, and drugging, and he continued to kiss and caress until she was a puddle of molten need before his fingertips finally grazed her clitoris.

'Dear God,' she moaned.

He shifted her onto the sofa and stood, bending over her to tug off her jumper, discard her bra, and peel her jeans and knickers down her legs with efficiency. Then he was kneeling beside the sofa, his hands and mouth upon her breasts, his hair caressing her skin. He sucked a nipple, rolling the other between his fingertips, humming his approval of her mewling cries of pleasure. He then began to kiss his way down her body, his tongue tracing the staircase of her ribcage down to the valley of her flat tummy. The tip of his tongue dipped into her navel, then he delivered open-mouthed kisses to the top of her quim.

Hermione raised her hips towards his mouth, her body humming with arousal, and he answered her by lifting her leg and insinuating himself between her thighs, pulling her hips toward him. With single-minded concentration, he spread her quim and licked her from her slit to her clit with the broad flat of his tongue, a strangled moan of pleasure from his throat inciting her to grind against his face. He began to flutter the tip of his tongue against her nerve centre with tiny butterfly kisses, and at the same time, he slipped a finger up her channel. She cried out, an inarticulate request for more, and he answered with a second finger, sucking her into his mouth with another moan of his own.

Hermione hovered for those exquisite seconds of eternity on the plateau of arousal so acute that she could scarcely draw breath. Then he thrust his fingers deep, tapping her sweet spot, and she was launched from the plateau, a splintering mass of screaming pleasure.

The aftershocks still echoed through her body as his hands pulled her into an upright position. Then something pressed at her entrance, and she opened her eyes to see him kneeling before the sofa, holding her at the edge of the cushions, thrusting into her quim, his face still slick with her secretions. His teeth were bared, as if he restrained himself in some way, and he thrust slowly and deeply into her body.

'Look at me, Hermione,' he breathed, and she knew what he wanted.

She looked into his eyes, welcoming the thrust of his will into her consciousness. For a time, she floated in her own sensations, feeling his turgid cock stroking in and out of her body and knowing he experienced her pleasure and his own simultaneously. His hands held her precisely where he wanted her, giving him the access and the angle he wanted to fuck her, and his mind held her where he wanted her, giving him access to her emotions. But she sensed his frustration a few seconds before he spoke directly into her mind.

Come on, pet, he crooned, rotating his hips and drawing a pleasureful groan from her. Come in … the water's fine …

And Hermione could deny him nothing. Reaching for him with all her being, she slipped into his consciousness, now truly joined in body, mind, and …

Soul, he supplied, seeming simultaneously smug and unsure, a feat only Severus Snape could accomplish.

Hermione did not hesitate—the glee which had earlier filled her with effervescent delight trilled from her into him as she answered, Yesss …. The joy would not be contained, but found its outlet, sending her careening into a second orgasm, catching him completely by surprise. Even in her climax, she held onto him with body and mind, feeling the concussive force of his answering completion. His face pulled into a rictus of the most extreme pleasure as his seed pumped deep into her womb. Then he pulled her off the couch onto the rug before the fire, Summoning the emerald green blanket to cover them as they held one another and trembled.


The afterglow was intense, hanging on as they moved into the bath. The mind connection was broken, but the vestiges of it remained. They spoke little as he washed her body, then allowed her to bathe him, luxuriating as she massaged shampoo into his scalp. She used the pewter jug she kept on the floor beside the tub for just such purposes to rinse the suds from his hair, and then they floated together in the warmth, their limbs entwined.

'What will my atonement be?' Hermione asked sleepily, threading her fingers through the hair on his chest.

His fingers captured her chin and tilted her face until her eyes met his. 'You owe no atonement,' he said quietly. 'My atonement will be ongoing.' His fingers trailed up her jaw to cup her cheek, and Hermione realised she had experienced a part of his amends just now, in the form of the worshipful pleasuring of her body. 'I have made more mistakes with you, Hermione, than with any submissive I have ever mentored.'

She stared into his frank ebony eyes. 'I don't think you forgive yourself easily when you believe you have made an error,' she said.

He nodded once, unsmiling.

'Thank you for making the effort to do so now,' she murmured. 'It would break my heart to have you send me away because you felt you had made an error in your treatment of me.'

His grip upon her tightened. 'Any other submissive would have been sent away the night of the Yule Ball,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 'Instead, you now wear my collar.'

His fingers met hers as they both touched her magically waterproofed collar.

'You're like no one I've ever encountered, Hermione,' he said. 'No one has ever been able to penetrate my Occlumency shields as you have done—and you aren't using Legilimency to do it.'

Hermione remained quiet as his eyes passed wonderingly over her features. The joyful, buoyant glee was rising in her once again, her love such a powerful force that she felt a physical ache behind her breastbone.

Then he spoke again, his voice low and intimate. 'You are, in a word, unexpected, pet. Completely and utterly unexpected.'

Then he put her from him, rising, the cooling water cascading down his lithe, fit form. 'I'm for a nap,' he announced as the water began to drain.


Their previous routine was re-established over the next few days, much to Hermione's delight. They were careful with one another, she far more attentive to her agreed-upon behaviours, he more measured in his responses to her. Their D/s play was intense and immensely satisfying to her as she surrendered her will to him and reaped the benefits of it. On the morning of New Year's Eve, he woke her with a box in his hand.

She rubbed her eyes, staring blurrily at the shiny green ribbon it bore. 'What is it?' she asked stupidly.

He snorted. 'Perhaps you should open it,' he said.

Hermione pushed the ribbon and matching bow from the box and pulled the top off, then pushed the tissue paper aside to reveal a …

'Riding crop?' she blurted, alarmed.

He sat down behind her, pulling her against his chest. 'Your riding crop,' he murmured into her hair.

Hermione took it by its red leather handle and lifted it from the box, noting the bendy shaft and the broad leather thong at its tip.

'Mine?' she said, flicking it. 'Th-thank you, Master.'

'Allow me to demonstrate,' he said, his wicked voice sending a shiver down her spine. He took it in hand and with a smooth downward motion, impacted the mattress with a resounding thwack.

Hermione jumped. 'Heavens!' she said, and he stroked her cheek with the whip handle.

'It is customary for the submissive to greet her crop with affection,' he informed her.

Hermione decided he sounded as if he were perfectly serious, so she turned her head and pressed a kiss to the red leather handle.

'Good girl,' he praised her, stroking a hand down her naked flank. 'You may experience the joy of your crop tonight, after dinner—a fitting way to greet the New Year, wouldn't you say?'

Hermione twisted and kissed his mouth. 'Yes, thank you, sir,' she said.

He chuckled and stood, twitching the covers completely off of her body. 'Now, get up and get dressed for breakfast,' he told her. 'We shall confound the Headmaster by showing up for breakfast four mornings in a row.'


After breakfast, Hermione returned to her professor's quarters. He frowned over his marking, muttering occasionally about the stupidity of the fifth-years, while she updated her green leather journal, notating what she had eaten for breakfast. At ten o'clock, she knelt at his side, and he looked down at her.

'What is it, little one?' he asked distractedly.

'I'm off to revise, sir, if that's all right.'

He motioned for her to stand and scooted back to make room for her in his lap. 'I shan't be in for lunch,' he told her. 'I trust you can remain out of trouble until I see you after dinner?'

Hermione smiled up at him, loving it when he teased her. 'I will do my very best, Master,' she promised.

He kissed her and ejected her from his lap with a slap to her bottom. 'See that you do,' he said and resumed his marking.

Hermione moved to the doorway, where she donned her clothing and shoes, and last of all, removed her collar, placing it on its peg. Then she put her book bag over her shoulder and glanced back at her professor, only to find his eyes on her.

'See you later,' she said, and his answer was a humorously arched eyebrow.


After a particularly satisfactory afternoon of revision, Hermione was very glad to go up to dinner in the Great Hall. The house-elves had cooked roast beef, her favourite, and she ate heartily, reading about Theoretical Arithmancy as she did so. She cast frequent glances at the Head Table, catching the Headmaster's eye more than once and receiving twinkling smiles from him, but Professor Snape did not materialise. Where was he? Had he decided to eat in his rooms?

With a mental shrug, Hermione made her way to Gryffindor Tower, daydreaming about her crop and how he would use it on her. She bathed with particular care, making sure she was shaved and smooth and applying scented moisturising lotion to her skin. She took care with her hair, putting it up in an elaborate twist, but she didn't bother with what she would wear—she would be naked, save for her collar, and she was very happy with that notion.

Wrapping herself in robes and a cloak, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and slipped down to the dungeons, anticipation singing in her body. But when she reached her professor's door, it did not open, and there was no answer to her knock.

Frowning, she considered what she ought to do. She had never before been unable to enter her professor's quarters, so she was at a loss, and her journal was locked in there, as well, so he would not be able to communicate with her that way.

'Fuck a duck,' she muttered, annoyed. Then she trekked back up to her dormitory.

She sat in her window seat, keeping watch for those who might be coming into or going out of the castle, but aside from the teachers going down to the village for a New Year's nightcap, she saw no one. Every two hours, she made the journey down to the dungeons, but his office door remained closed to her.

Where was he?

At one o'clock in the morning, the teachers made their winding way back to the castle, and at two, Hermione made her last trip down to the dungeons. Trudging disconsolately back to her dormitory, she acknowledged that he had most likely been called by Voldemort; otherwise, he would not have broken faith with her. Of this, she was certain.

She slept fitfully, her dreams dark and dreadful. At daybreak, she crept down to the professor's office, but he still did not answer her knock. Truly worried, she went to breakfast and poured a cup of coffee, watching the Head Table obsessively, as if she could make him appear by will power alone.

Then there was a great flutter in the air, and Hermione looked up to see owls streaming into the Great Hall. She pulled some Knuts out of her pocket for the barn owl bearing her copy of the Daily Prophet, but it was the appearance of Hedwig that alarmed her. Why was Harry writing to her?

With great foreboding, she took the parchment from Hedwig's leg and began to read. She was conscious of a great shout from the Head Table, but she pushed the knowledge away, determined to read Harry's letter.

Hermione,
The Burrow was attacked last night just after midnight. Mrs Weasley took a Stunner to the chest and is in St Mungo's, but everyone else escaped unharmed. Ron and I are on the run. Don't try to come to us now—you'll be safer in hiding. We'll be in contact when we can.

-Harry

Indignation roiled through her. After all they had been through together, Harry and Ron were on the run without her? They wouldn't last a week, the two dunderheads! She sniffed and twitched open the Prophet, and her heart dropped to her feet.

Azkaban Prison Demolished by Death Eaters, the headline blazed. In slightly smaller type it continued, All Prisoners Now at Large.

On the bottom half of the front page, a second headline proclaimed, Death Eaters Wanted in Connection With Azkaban Prison Breakout. In slightly smaller type it continued, Hogwarts Teacher Ringleader Amongst the Prison Breakers, and below the headline, front and centre, was the snarling face of Severus Snape.


A/N: Uh oh! It's a bit of plot! Hope you'll forgive me! ;)