For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 71: Freefall

An hour of quiet reflection did nothing to calm her nerves. If she had known at the outset that attending Daisy's christening equated to an agreement to have a private talk with Severus Snape, she never would have come. What could he want to know? What could she possibly say?

She was tempted to Disapparate to her flat, but she had no desire to offend t and Rafe. Oh, why had she come?

She sat on the edge of her bed and cradled her head in her hands. All these months of walling off her emotions and forcing herself not to think about Severus Snape or their relationship and how it ended, and now she was trapped in the same house with him and more or less under the gun to talk to him about it.

His proximity excited her—well, physically, their interactions had always been phenomenal, hadn't they? —but she had no idea how she could discuss with him the whys and wherefores of her decision to leave him. She was certain she had done the right thing; he had never accorded her the status of full-fledged adult in their interactions, had he? Always, there had been that power imbalance, of him as the adult and her as the child.

He had insisted on making decisions for her without consulting her about it, and as a result, she had been separated from Harry and Ron when they most needed her, and she had not been present at Roissy House to help defend her friends when the Death Eaters invaded. As a result, Kell had very nearly lost her life. In her heart of hearts, Hermione blamed Severus for that.

Frustrated, she extinguished the light and lay down upon the top of the bedcovers, fully clothed. She resolutely closed her eyes and told herself to sleep—but neither her body nor her mind were willing to listen to that. Just below where she lay, Severus Snape sat before a fire in his shirtsleeves, all silky voice and slender fingers and thin, lithe body beneath his clothes …

No! No, she wouldn't think of those things. Better not to think at all.

She sat up abruptly, switching on the light, and she slipped her feet into her shoes. She riffled through her bag for the books she had packed, but she could not find them anywhere. Where were they? She searched the bedside table and the dresser. Had she unpacked them and forgotten?

But a thorough search of her room did not reveal her books, and she huffed in annoyance. Well, somewhere downstairs was Rafe's study, and surely there were books on the shelves—otherwise, why would it be called a study?

She made her way stealthily down the stairs to the entrance hall, and a quick peek inside the sitting room assured her that the professor was not sitting morosely before the fire—thank Merlin for small favours! Continuing down the corridor, she came to a room with its door ajar, and she slipped inside, noting the book-filled shelves by the ambient light in the room. Excellent!

She lit the tip of her wand and began to examine the bookcases, shelf by shelf, and she lost herself in the smell of the book-bindings and the parchment within them, debating which of the books she most wished to carry back to her room.

'Luckily for you, I am not an enemy wishing for an opportunity to attack,' a musing voice commented from across the room, and Hermione spun to see Severus Snape seated on the cushioned window seat, his hooked nose silhouetted by the moonlight as he gazed out at the night.

'I didn't see you!' she gasped.

He did not look her way, but he did not need to do so for her to hear the sneer as he replied, 'Obviously.'

She swallowed, feeling annoyingly wrong-footed. 'I thought you were in the sitting room.'

Now his head swivelled, and she was pinned by his regard. 'No, you were far more likely to come into this room, seeking reading material,' he said evenly.

'How did you know that?' she demanded.

A half-smile curved his lips. 'I know you well,' he murmured.

'You came in here because you thought I would?' she persisted.

'Yes,' he said simply.

Hermione sighed, feeling defeated. 'All right,' she said resignedly.

He stood, facing her. Even with only the faint moonlight for a backlight, she could see the sharp contrast between the breadth of his shoulders and the slimness of his hips, and her breath caught in her throat.

'All right?' he queried.

She gave her head a shake, annoyed with the ongoing battle between attraction and irritation which raged in her psyche. With a snort of exasperation, she lit the nearest candelabra with a flick of her wrist and flounced to the sofa in the middle of the room, flopping onto it. 'All right,' she snapped. 'Fine. Talk.'

She glared straight ahead, no longer feeling panic or fear, only aggravation. And deep within, there was a spark of pleasure that she could be this close to this man without feeling overwhelmed by him.

'I see,' he said, sounding somewhat bemused but taking her at her word, he trod across the floor and seated himself beside her on the sofa, turning slightly so that he faced her.

Hermione darted an alarmed glance at him from the corner of her eye, and she saw him extend his arm along the top of the sofa, his fingers stopping just shy of her shoulder. A cold chill ran up her spine, her skin all over gooseflesh … her nipples suddenly crinkled and aching against the fabric of her plain cotton bra.

'Have you been well?' he asked, as if he were her doctor and she was in for her annual check-up.

She crossed her arms over her breasts, hoping he hadn't noticed anything. 'Don't I look well?' she said belligerently.

'I can't say that you do,' he said mildly. 'You're too thin, your eyes are shadowed, and you're a bit pale.'

She turned angrily. 'I could say the same for you!'

His eyes widened slightly when she turned, but he recovered quickly, inclining his head slowly in acknowledgment of the truth of her comment. Then he said, 'Of course, you are still quite lovely.'

Hermione felt the moment when her eyes locked with his; there was very nearly an audible click in her mind as it happened, and some of her bravado leached away. She didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't reply.

'Did you score an Outstanding in each of your NEWTs?' he asked, covering the awkward pause.

'Yes.'

He nodded, as if this were exactly what he had expected. 'I understand that you have a new job,' he commented. 'Rafe informs me that you endured six weeks of training in America—for which you have my complete sympathy—but he could not tell me what sort of work you are doing.'

Ah, this was safe terrain. She relaxed slightly. She had been explaining her job to everyone she met for weeks, now—there was nothing to fear in this conversation. 'I'm still in training, actually,' she said. 'I'm one of a team of information technology engineers, setting up the new computer systems at the Ministry of Magic.'

His eyebrows arched. 'I've been reading about you in the newspaper without knowing it,' he said. 'You and your fellows were hired at a premium salary, from what I understand—far beyond the means of a schoolteacher's pay.'

Hermione heard a note of hesitation in his voice, but she tried to ignore it. Did he dislike it that she was paid a higher salary then he was? 'Yes,' Hermione agreed, 'I was very fortunate to be chosen.'

He nodded. 'You'll not be in need of monetary assistance,' he observed.

Did he think she had enjoyed taking his gold to buy things? Had he thought she would ask him again? Not bloody likely! 'I never was,' she answered sharply.

His eyes strayed momentarily to her lips, then rose again to her eyes. 'Indeed,' he said, and for some reason, Hermione's heart rate increased.

His subsequent words proved that her premonition of danger was accurate, for he segued seamlessly into his next question.

'Perhaps,' he said, 'you could tell me more about your decision to return your collar to me.'

In an instant, she felt sick with dread, and she saw how she had been lulled into thinking he would ask nothing but idle questions of her. 'I told you my reasons then,' she pointed out.

'I recall,' he said, with a wry twist of his lips. 'I thought you might be able to elaborate for me on your points of dissatisfaction.' His voice dropped, in both volume and timbre, and Hermione's body reacted as if his hands were upon her flesh. 'I cannot hope to learn from my mistakes, you see, if I do not fully understand them.'

His eyes bored into hers, and she felt unable to tear her gaze away, even though her hands began to tremble, and a tone seemed to thrum through her lower body, as of a stringed instrument, expertly plucked.

'You had no respect for my abilities,' she said, speaking quickly, fighting to think clearly over the traitorous reactions of her nervous system. 'Yes, you acknowledged my intellect, but you had no faith in my abilities to duel or to protect my friends.'

His lips, thin but beautifully formed, pursed for a moment, and Hermione had a sudden, piercing memory of her clitoris sucked into his mouth between those lips, his tongue teasing her to the point of insanity.

'What if,' he asked, bringing her back to their conversation, 'my reticence to see you fight had nothing to do with my faith in your abilities to do so, but everything to do with my desire to keep you safe?'

His tone was mild, inquiring, as if they were discussing a theory of some sort, rather than the dissolution of their love affair.

Hermione swallowed, dragging her eyes from his mouth, just as he had done, earlier, and she wondered briefly if he had been picturing her lips fastened about his cock as he fucked her mouth …

'That wasn't the point, was it?' she asked, and the heat in his gaze told her he knew her mind had wandered from the stated topic of their discussion. 'The point is that you made my obedience in that area a part of our contract with one another without my consent—I never agreed to allow you control over my efforts in the war, did I?'

He appeared to consider this, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips, and Hermione shuddered deep inside as she clenched the arm of the sofa, her knuckles white, to keep herself from leaning over to touch her tongue to his …

'And might not we have discussed your concern, I wonder?' he asked. 'Could we not have renegotiated our agreement to our mutual—' his eyes flicked down, roving over her chest, where her aching, erect nipples pressed against the thin layers of her bra and her blouse, up to her throat, where her pulse beat violently beneath the edge of her jaw, to her lips, slightly parted as she took light, panting breaths, until coming to rest again on her eyes '—satisfaction?'

His fingertips now brushed against the strands of her hair, though how he had drawn nearer to her she did not know. He hadn't moved, she was sure of it. Had she scooted closer to him?

Hermione swallowed. 'It didn't seem so,' she whispered, trying desperately to hang on to her reasoning mind, pushing against her wildly rising excitement, but feeling as if she were beating upon unresponsive rock with bare fists. She looked away from him, staring down at her knees. 'It seemed as if you had made up your mind, and my choices were either to obey or suffer your displeasure. I was not aware of my … right to request a renegotiation.'

The fingers recently playing at the tips of her hair were on the collar of her shirt now, beneath her hair, rubbing comforting circles through the fabric, against her skin. How could that be? she wondered vaguely, fighting the urge to arch into his touch and purr like a cat.

'Hermione,' he breathed, and she was startled to feel his breath upon her temple.

Dear God, how was he doing this, making the safe distance she had placed between them disappear, without either of them moving a muscle? She glanced up and found his eyes, black as India ink, fastened upon her face.

'I could try to justify my behaviour with you—believe me, I have done, and Hadrian has scorned my excuses to silence—but the truth of the matter is, I did not properly educate you before I accepted your offer of submission and placed my collar about your neck.'

His fingertips now were upon her nape, soothing, massaging, even as his voice insinuated itself into her. It crept in through her parted lips, her open eyes, through the very pores of her skin, until she was bound up, a sealed vessel filling with urgency, her skin feeling ready to burst with needful anticipation.

'I told you then I was a selfish bastard, thinking, perhaps, that those words in some way excused my actions—but you had no authority for anything I did or asked you to do except for my word and the book written by Master Maximus and t.'

Now his entire hand, not only his fingertips, massaged the back of her neck, and she pressed gently back against those clever fingers, a murmur of pleasure on her lips, even as she absorbed his words. So, he had spoken of their break-up to Hadrian, and the older Dominant had taken the professor to task for collaring her too soon …

'As Hadrian reminded me, it is proper procedure for a neophyte submissive to have a submissive mentor when she is new to the lifestyle. It was one thing for me to begin the training for Jacqueline and Diana at school, because I then took them to Roissy House and established them with a network of submissives while I sought a Dominant to continue their training. It was something completely different to collar you without giving you an opportunity to find your feet in the D/s community.'

The fingers beneath her hair became still, the warmth of his hand cupping the back of her neck. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

'If I'd had a mentor,' she said, 'you would have followed the rules in your dealings with me.'

She watched in some amazement as dull red touched his sallow cheeks, and he seemed to recollect himself, for he removed his hand from her skin and rested it on the edge of the sofa back.

'I allowed my desire to possess you to overcome my training as a Dominant. I allowed my fear that you would be killed to convince me that it was right to use any means, fair or foul, to coerce you into remaining safe.' He paused for a moment, as if dreading to speak the next words. At last he said, 'I used your trust in me to manipulate you into doing what I wanted.'

He stood suddenly, and Hermione blinked in surprise that he was able to break free of the tether which held them so close together. He stared down at her, his eyes bleak, his nostrils flaring as he drew breath, his lips pressed into a tight, straight line.

'I failed you in every way a man can fail a woman, and in every way a Dominant can fail a submissive,' he stated, his voice stern, and as she watched, he straightened to his full height. 'I'll not ask your forgiveness, for the things I have done are unpardonable, but I will give you my heartfelt apology, for I owe it to you.' He made a fist with his right hand and placed it over his heart, then bowed from the waist, his lank hair falling forward in a sweeping arc.

Before he had fully righted himself, Hermione was on her feet. How had this meeting changed tenor so quickly? He had been actively seducing her, moving closer to her, touching her, soothing her with his hands, lulling her with his voice, and speaking the words she had so desperately needed to hear. And now he was making his apologies and taking his leave?

Like hell he was!

'What about me?' she demanded. 'What about the things I did wrong? You haven't mentioned one of those.'

His hands fell to his sides, and he watched her with a crease between his brows. 'It is not my place to speak of such things,' he informed her stiffly. 'I am here only to say to you the things which should have been said long ago.'

She placed her hands on her hips. 'How about the fact that I said I would submit to you and then disobeyed you? I said I would remain safe and then I repeatedly put myself in danger.'

His eyes narrowed slightly. 'I see no point in discussing that,' he said flatly.

Fury swelled in her chest, righteous anger electrifying her, and it was as if she were standing again in the reception room at Roissy House, having to explain to him that she was as much a part of their relationship as he was.

She stepped forward pugnaciously. 'You're doing it again,' she accused. 'Acting as if it's all about you and not at all about me!'

He opened his lips to reply, but she forestalled him with one finger poked against his sternum, and her words came out in a rush.

'I am not blameless in what happened with us, so don't pretend to yourself that I am. I didn't question you enough, didn't require enough explanation of the things you said and asked me to do. I accepted your word. I needed what you gave me so much I didn't question where it came from or why.'

His hand came up and captured the finger pointed at his chest, encompassing her entire hand. 'That was only natural for you,' he replied quietly, his eyes darkening. 'You're a born submissive, Hermione, and it was your bad fortune to come across a Dominant who failed to cultivate and develop your gifts.' He drew an unsteady breath. 'It is the duty of the Dominant not only to provide for the physical needs of the submissive, but also to nurture her emotionally and educate her intellectually. I may have succeeded in the first area—'

'You did!' she threw at him, almost as if it were a challenge.

He pressed on, determinedly. 'But I failed you miserably in both of the other areas where it was my responsibility to provide for you,' he finished. 'Any improper behaviour from you was nothing but a demonstration of how poorly I had instructed you.'

Hermione's heart, mind, and body were a morass of raging, conflicting emotions, thoughts, and impulses. He attracted her to him, as he had always done, with his physicality, that je ne sais quoi which set him apart from every other man she had ever known. But at the same time, he pushed her from him with his words, his intractable attitude, and his bloody-minded determination to make the break-up all about him. She was too overwrought to respond to him on any level but the most primal, aided by her impudent tongue.

'So now what?' she demanded. 'You walk out, all warm and fuzzy in the knowledge that you've done your damn duty by me?' She put on a deep voice and said with fake jollity, 'Sorry for fucking up your life, Hermione. Cheerio!'

His eyes flashed at her insolent tone, and his hold on her hand tightened. 'Do not imagine that you can manipulate me with your play-acting,' he said dangerously.

Her need blazed up in her like fire, responding to the warning in his tone. 'You owe me!' she insisted. 'You know you do!'

They stood facing one another in Rafe's study, both breathing as if they had been physically sparring, staring into each other's eyes like opposing wildcats, each determined not to be the first to blink. Hermione had no idea what she was doing, what she hoped to accomplish, but something within her drove her to push him, push him as far as she could, uncaring of what the consequences of her actions might be.

As she stared at him, thinking it would be a miracle if he did not break the bones of the hand he held in his vise-like grip, he visibly calmed himself, his breathing evening out, his grasp lessening until he had released her hand, the stern lines of his face relaxing to the expression he had presented her when first she had seen him that afternoon, in the nave of the church.

'All right, Hermione,' he said quietly. 'What do you require of me? How can I be of service?'

Dimly, it occurred to her that if her breathing didn't calm, she would hyperventilate, and that would be the end of her enjoyment of this confrontation with her former professor. But from her mouth issued the first words that occurred to her, the words that were dying to spill from her lips.

'Spank me!'

And without blinking an eye, he moved around her to resume his place on the sofa, and she tracked him with her eyes, allowing herself to note the snug fit of the trousers over his tight bum and the way the fabric clung to the long muscles of his thighs as he seated himself. His posture was open, welcoming, even, and he looked directly into her eyes as he spoke.

'You know the rules, Hermione.'

And feeling like she had leapt recklessly into the sizzling frying pan, Hermione reached beneath her skirt and hooked her fingers in the waistband of her tights.