Chapter Four: Magnificent Obsession
(Author's note: Wow! Is this dirty!;) )
Penny Lane, Liverpool. Office of John Granger, D.D.S and Olive Granger, D.D.S, 1988
I: Snape
"Go on, Hermione. Show Mr. Snape what you showed me."
The little girl with the buck teeth and bushy brown hair regarded Snape with wide and surprisingly intelligent eyes.
"It's you." She said.
"It is? Who am I, then?" Snape replied.
"You're the Snape. Who lives on Spinner's End. Everybody in Vauxhall knows you. So I'm not sure if I should show you what I can do."
"Why not?' Snape asked
It was obvious the child was bright; he wasn't going to talk to her like she was an idiot.
"Because it's, well, it's magic. Like Gandalf. And things."
"Gandalf?"
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"How old is she?"
"Six. But she reads at an 7th grade level. We can't get books out of her hands, Sev. She's a smart little thing, my Hermione."
"Then you had better show me. Your magic."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a wizard."
The little girl frowned.
"You? You don't look nothin' like a wizard. Not like Merlyn. Or Gandalf. Bullshit." She replied.
"Hermione!" her father exclaimed.
"It's alright, John. If my mother wasn't a witch, I never would have believed in magic. Would you like to see a little Elvish fire?"
"Like the stuff around Frodo's sword?" Hermione asked.
Snape nodded.
"Would that convince you I was a wizard?"
"Maybe."
Snape opened the palm of his hand, and said a word in Old Elvish, s few words, and a small blue flame danced in his palm.
"Convinced?"
"Sort of. Let's see you do a spell."
Snape didn't figure as how anything simple would convince this child, so he turned her father's desk chair into a rather small gryphon, and then back again.
"Are manticores real?" the little girl asked.
"Yes."
"Am I likely to run into one?"
"No."
"That's a good job. Alright. I'll show yer."
The little girl, Hermione, carefully laid three marbles on the floor.
She said a spell, something she'd got out of one of the Rings books, slightly fictionalized accounts of Wizarding history, and the three marbles flew into the air.
The girl knew the whole spell, she made them do all sorts of calisthenics and then fly back into her pocket.
"So she's a witch, then?" John Granger asked his patient.
"Definitely. Don't do any magic in front of anyone, girl."
"I don't. Do you think I'm stupid? They'd burn me or kill me Mum and Da or send me to the nut house, or summat." Hermione retorted.
"Yes. They would."
"Da says your're a teacher. Do you teach witches and wizards?"
"I do. At a school for people who can do magic. Wizards, like me. Witches. Like you."
"School? A new school? Where I can learn new things? Things other people don't know?"
"A whole world of it."
"Will you teach me, Mr. Snape?"
"Yes."
"When do I get to go to the wizard school?"
"When you're ten."
"Will I be just like you when I grow up?"
"Why would you want to be?' Snape snorted.
Hermione looked at him like he was mad.
"Because you're the Snape. You know everything, and nobody fucks about with you."
"Hermione! No swearing!"
"Sorry, Da." Hermione apologized.
Snape smiled, just a little.
"You may very well be just like me when you grow up, girl."
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, January 1997
"Everything's so horrible, Snape! I'm so bloody terrified. I just don't feel safe anywhere. Not with Harry. Not with Viktor. Not in Griffindor Tower. Not at Hogwarts. Not at home. Only when I'm here, in this bloody dungeon with the likes of you! I can't take the pressure. I can't live with myself. I try to think like Ginny, that they're only Death Eaters. But I keep seeing their faces. Their dead faces! I'm fookin' well cracking up, Snape! I am!"
Severus Snape had known Hermione Granger since she was 8, been her teacher since she was 10, her employer at Prince's Potions since she was 14, and she had been his Acolyte and he had been her Master Magus in Four of the Five Disciplines, one of which, Magick of the Spheres, or Alchemy, as Muggles called it she was a master in the First Degree of, herself, for two years, since she was 15.
He had sent her on missions too terrible to ask any witch or wizard to undertake and they had worked magic that had it been known that such things still existed, they would have been illegal.
And he had never seen her shed a tear.
Until now.
She sat on his worn old couch in front of the telly he wasn't allowed to have in the main room of his dungeon living quarters, crying her eyes out.
"Have you got a fag? I'm all out."
Normally Snape wouldn't lend her a cigarette, but he made an exception.
She lit it with her wand and smoked and cried until it burnt down to her fingers and she dropped the butt on the stone floor, grinding it under one of her shoes.
She spoke again, looking at her shoes.
"Something horrible is going to happen, isn't it? You're going to do something awful, and I'm just going to have to believe that you've done it for the right reasons."
"Can you do that, Granger?"
"Of course I can, Snape! I trust you, no matter what. What scares me is you'll have to go off somewhere. And then I'll be afraid all the time."
She jumped up off the couch, and grabbed him, as close to his shoulders as she could reach, considering he was about a foot taller than her.
"What if you never come back, Snape? What if you die? What the fuck will become of me, then? You've got to do it!"
' "Do what?"
"Make me your Acolyte in the 5th Discipline."
The Fifth Discipline, which no with or wizard could study in less they were an Acolyte of two disciplines and a Master of one, was the most arcane, dangerous, but yet ancient and powerful of all the Five.
Magick of Eros and Love.
Or as the Muggles called it, Sex Magick.
Snape was a Master in the 3rd degree, like all the other Disciplines.
He was one of only a handful of Wizards or Witches in the world who had conquered that feat.
A Pendragon.
"I'm 17. I'm old enough."
"You don't know what you're asking me, girl."
"Yes I do! I'm not some fookin' child, am I? I'm your Acolyte. You're my master. I'm James Bond to your M. My father's friends with your father. We're both from the same city, the same neighborhood, I grew up one street away from Spinners' End. We can't get any closer, can we?"
"Yes we can."
"Well, don't you want to?"
"Of course I want to! I'm old, not dead."
"You're not that old. My Da's 25 years older than me Mum. You're only 18 years older than me. I didn't say I wanted to marry you, Snape."
"If I married you, the bond wouldn't be as strong!"
"Well, then, why don't you promise me we'll do it after the war. Yunno. When we're the both of us dead!"
"What do you want with me, Granger? What do you see in me?"
"Everything a man's cracked up to be, that's wot! Give me something, Snape. Something to hold onto, if I make it and you don't. Or, the other way around. We've got six months until the end of the school year. That's less than most people get, but more than some. I'm not asking you this just because I fancy you. If you die, I need to finish your work. Your legacy. To become a Pendragon. For both of us."
"Is that all there is in it for you, Granger? Your own greater glory?"
"Fuck no. I might as well come out with it. I'm not asking you to forsake all others. I'm not talking about love. That's all bullshite for fucking idiots. I don't just want you, Snape. I need you. Like I need air and food and water. I'm dying by fractions of inches, without you. Do you want me to defile myself? Get on me fucking knees and beg you?"
Granger was angry, now, she was shouting, but her face was still stained with her tears.
"Are you that kind of a girl, Granger?"
"You bet I am!"
"Lift up your skirt."
And she did it, just like that.
All she had on under it, besides her knee socks, one of which was pulled up and one of which was around her ankles, as usual, was a pair of red cotton knickers with the Gryffindor Lion on them.
Snape felt a twinge in his balls that was just diabolical.
He touched her round, full white thigh, almost at the very top.
Her breath became shallow.
He pressed his hand against it, a little harder.
"Great God Pan, I, your beloved son, son of your blood, Severus Tobias Snape, through my grandfather, Severus Prince and through his father, the satyr, Vernus, Master in the highest degree of your Magickal Art, the Magick of the Wild and the Wood, the Magick of Evolution, Generation, of Creation, itself, call upon you now, by virtue of my blood, your blood. To my service witness this vow of my four times Acolyte, that Hermione Jean Granger, is bound to me as I am to you, by my blood, by your blood. Five times bound in unbreakable vow. Master to Acolyte, wizard to witch, man to woman. Upon her body I place my mark."
Hermione felt a tingling sensation on her leg.
"Hermione Granger, do you swear before the Great God Pan, whose blood flows in your Master's veins, that you bind yourself to me, as my Acolyte, five times bound by Unbreakable Vows?"
"I do. I will not desert you. I will not betray you. I will be your Acolyte all the days of my life. In death I will mourn you. In blood avenge you. From now until the undead end of time. As one Pendragon to another."
"Then I do swear, and bind myself to you. I will not desert you. I will not betray you. I will be your Master all the days of my life. In death I will mourn you. In blood avenge you. From now until the undead end of time. As one Pendragon to another."
Snape removed his hand from her thigh, flopped down on his couch, and lit a fag.
"There. It's done."
Hermione sat down beside him, and looked at her thigh.
There was a Goblin-style tattoo on it, of a merry, dancing satyr, playing his pipes.
"How did you do that, Snape?"
"Magic."
"I know that, you toe-rag! Well? Was that it, then?"
"That was it."
"You mean there's no actual sex involved?" Hermione snorted.
"Well, if you were a virgin, and I had to teach you how to fuck, that would have been part of the ritual. But seeing as how you and Viktor Krum having been shagging all over Europe and the Americas, not to mention bits of Australia, as well, for the past two years, that bit wasn't necessary."
"You're a real snarky fookin' berk, you know that, right?"
"You've read every book you can get your filthy little hands on about Sex Magick, Granger. You know it's not as abrupt as all that. Before you get any practical training from me, you and I are going to have to acquire deep and intimate knowledge of each other's bodies. Most of the time, a witch and a wizard or two witches or two wizards and a witch, or what have you, will have been lovers for two or three years before they take a step like this. But, considering you're such a hot little Gryffindor slut, I imagine we can do a year or two's worth of filthy, dirty fucking in three to six months. But, right now, we don't even have that. I'm afraid you'll have to wait till after the war. Now, if I don't make it, my mark on you gives you the privilege to have one of the other two masters of the Order of the Satyr take over in my place. Lucius Malfoy's a shrewd, devious man, moreso than me, even. And Remus Lupin is a werewolf. Even if he seems dead, he won't be. It's bloody hard to kill a werewolf. If our side wins, you can pick either. If Tom Riddle's side wins, align yourself with Malfoy. He'll never stop working to see Tom dead, and I imagine if I'm dead as well, you'll feel the same way."
Snape finished his smoke, and got up.
"Now, go and wash your face, and get it together. We've work to do, tonight."
"Wait a fookin' minute? Where o you get off, calling me a slut. On second thoughts, I'll bet that's just where you get off, isn't it? Well, you've got me right, you old bastard! That's what I am, and make no mistake about it! And someday, someday, when you fucking well least expect it, I'm going to get tired of you and your snarky comments and your pitiful excuse for a personality, and by the gods, by the Great God pan, himself, I'll show you, oh I'll bloody show you just what I am! And you won't be able to get out of your bed for a week!" Hermione shouted.
"Finished?' Snape asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Like I said, we've work to do, tonight."
Spinners' End, Vauxhall, Liverpool. 1998
I: Snape
The fury that Snape had flown into on Saturday at Smaug's Belly hadn't abated on Sunday, rather, he had grown angrier with every passing hour.
Not to mention that before, Snape had just been angry because it still bothered him, the things he couldn't quite do, and he was taking it out on Granger because she was around and he knew she could stand it.
Now?
He was ten times more furious with her than he was at his illness.
It wasn't so much that it bothered him that she was fucking Krum; he didn't consider the boy a credible threat.
What pissed Snape off to no end was the way Granger had just gone off with her Quidditch Hero without so much as leaving him a note.
And if Granger thought he'd been a bastard before, she hadn't fucking well seen anything, yet.
It was three in the morning and Snape was still awake, sitting at his kitchen table in the dark, chain smoking, thinking dark, evil thoughts, screwing up his anger into a massive fist of rage that he would pummel his Acolyte with when she walked through the back door, come the morning.
Snape knew Granger well enough to know she'd sneak in through the back door, fearing his wrath.
That was when the door of one of the cabinets began to rattle and he could hear the dishes inside, rattling and shaking.
It was the fourth of fifth time, but this time, it sounded like the dishes would begin to break.
"Will you fucking stop that! I'll give you to Luke if you don't leave me the bloody hell alone!"
"Severus, you are going to bring me out of this cabinet and let me have my say, or I will break every dish in here! And you can't give me to Luke, I'm a magickal gift, aren't I?
That comment came from the pewter and silver-plated d hollowed out skull with the right hand from the same skeleton fashioned into a mug that was sitting in the cabinet, outfitted with a black, silver and green Prince's Burning Ever After Candle in the hollow.
Tom Riddle was of course, dead, his body and bones but for the hand and skull consumed by magical fire, his soul split by the horrible Rite of Demonic Execution carried out on him by Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy while Snape was in the hospital after Nagini's attack.
The demonic part of him, which was about 80 percent had been destroyed.
Surprisingly, there was enough of a homeless remnant of what was yet decent and good in Tom Riddle's half-blood human soul to retain his consciousness.
It wasn't even enough to be a proper ghost, however, and after quite some time trying to find a place for itself, what remained of Master Riddle settled in what was left of him, the mug that belonged to his heir.
Snape had made the mug a candleholder and quit drinking from it after he realized it was possessed after Tom began to complain about the cheapness of the tea that he drank, and the ignominy of having to live in a cabinet with a lot of chipped and cracked beakers, most of which Snape had got for free from petrol stations and the like, over the years.
Tom was forever trying to convince his former Acolytes Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and Snape, and even his old friend Severus' Prince and the woman he almost married, Eileen Snape that he was a changed wizard, and if only they would complete the Rite, and provide the good, decent and human remnant of him with a body to live in, well, he would make amends.
If he didn't, according to the Rite, even if he so much as lifted one finger in anger at any other witch or Wizard, his new body would dissolve into dust, and the remnant of his soul be dammed for all time.
Still, no one was yet convinced.
"Fine! It's fucking dark in here, anyway. At least you'll be useful."
Snape stalked over to the cabinet, got the skull mug out, banged him down onto the table and lit the candle.
"That's better."
"I don't want a great fat lot of your shitty fucking advice, Tom!"
"Do you know why your mother left me, Severus?"
"Because you were an insane fucking lunatic who wanted to make some half-arsed attempt to destroy the very fabric of the universe, because it wasn't enough for you to be the son of Satan himself?"
"I'll admit to that, yes. But it's also because I was a rotten bastard to her. I took it for granted that she was my Acolyte, she was bound to me, and that she was engaged to be my wife, that she was in love with me, and pregnant with our child and only 15. Eileen was the sheltered daughter of a pureblood family, who didn't know a telephone from a tractor. And she ran away to the Muggle world, and married your great, drunken brutal oaf of a useless pirate of a father. And they provided you with the sordid provincial inner city childhood from Hell."
"So Da got handsy when he was drunk, and Mum was a terror when she was strung out? We all sorted ourselves out. You've no room to talk about my father, with as much blood as you have on your hands! Do you have a point, Tom, or are you just going to ramble all night?"
"Of course I have a point! Hermione is a grown woman of 19, and a war veteran who took and passed her NEWT's from a tent, via owl-post and still made the highest grades of any student in her year. She's brilliant. Not to mention she spent considerable time in her summers off from Hogwarts obtaining a proper Muggle education through online courses. Thanks to you making her James Bond to your M, she' s an expert in world travel, dirty tricks, double-crosses and not being found when she doesn't want to be. Her O-levels and A-levels are some of the highest in Great Britain. She has her pick of Wizarding universities, and I'm sure she could persuade Remus Lupin, you fellow Pendragon and colleague, to perform the Rites of Severance, and take over as her Master. And she's a half-blood, she could chuck the whole thing, go to Cambridge or Oxford and become just about anything she wanted. Or anyone she wanted. Granger has also refused to recognize the existence of romantic love, you've never touched her and that lad Krum certainly has. Not to mention she's famous , now, she could have her pick of men, couldn't she? Hermione's far better situated to leave your mean, ugly, ungrateful arse flat, and don't forget, she's your little Frankenstein , Severus,. If you made her angry enough, she could turn her back on you and either never feel a thing, or never permit herself to. I lost the woman I loved because I was an arrogant, conceited, rotten bastard, and that's; why I'm in this spot. If I'd had a wife and a son to think of, maybe I would have thought better of some of my madder ideas. You've got the world, my boy. And you can have the girl, too. Why throw anything away, when you've got it all? Especially out of sheer stupidity and meanness?"
Snape thought about it.
"You've got a point, Tom. I never even considered her leaving me. She's a real Scouser, though, tough as leather and hard as nails. If I pushed her too far, she might do it. And with what she knows , I might even have trouble finding her, again. But I can't just let her fuck over me and get away with it, can I?"
"Certainly not! Frankly, my boy, I am shocked that young Mistress Granger would behave this way towards you. Going off with some blunt-skulled Bohunk without so much as having the decency to leave you a note! I know you don't expect, or promise fidelity, but out of common decency and respect for you as her master, and as a man, she could have at least sent you an owl.." Tom sniffed.
"Suggestions, Tom?"
"Don't get mad, Sev. Get even. Instead of screaming and yelling at her, explain to your Acolyte what a shocking breach of protocol, and of her duty it was to abscond without speaking to you. And then you can tell her how very much you were personally hurt, angered, and disappointed by her actions. Then you can yell a little."
Snape thought about it.
"I like that idea. And I'll sit here for the rest of the night, that way when she sneaks in , early in the morning…"
"…you can really put the screws to her. Literally. You've got to get in the game, Severus. I would, if I were you. I mean, what did you put that tattoo on her for? Show? She thinks that Krum boy is really something. You had better show her he's not a patch on your arse."
Tom chuckled.
"She'll thank you for it, in the end."
Hermione's eyes widened into two huge saucers when she crept in the back door at dawn and found Snape at the kitchen table, a full ashtray at one hand and his grisly candelabra at the other.
"Well, look who's here! Master Riddle and I have been waiting up for you. All night."
"Did you have a nice vacation, Miss Granger? Master Snape was very worried about you. And I was very worried about Master Snape. All alone, with no one to help him, for a week." the skull asked.
Hermione looked at her feet.
"Oh."
"Oh? You up and desert me, a sick man, without so much as a note, to go and live it up at the bloody Adelphi, in the bloody lap of luxury, with Viktor bloody Krum, and all you have to say is "oh?" Well, I'm sorry, Granger. That's not what you might call sufficient. I'm your Master, Granger. You swore an Unbreakable Vow to me. At the very least, it was a breach of what you might call protocol for you to take it on your toes, the way you did? Well?"
Snape could see his and Tom's plan was working.
Hermione had come in, spoiling for a fight, but now that Snape had begun with a formal reproach, the wind was somewhat knocked out of her sails.
"I…I…erm…"
"Really? Bloody fookin' fascinatin', Granger.! Now, as I was saying, I may not be at death's door, and I may be well enough to gimp around, but I'm not what you'd call a well man, am I? I still can't fucking speak, or even make any kind of sound I can use to communicate with anyone but you, Luke Malfoy, and what's left of Tom, here. I'm hardly adept enough with me right hand to get at the pots and the stove; if I try it one-handed, and not even me preferred hand, I might either burn meself or break things. Nor is owl post very fookin' useful when it's Tuesday night and you've had nothing to eat all day and you're all alone when you're dragging your leg about and your smart hand doesn't work! Floo's right out, too, seeing as how I can't talk! I didn't want to bother Mum at the shop, the rush is on for the new school year. So I had to apparate to Hogwarts, and ask poor Moony, who can hardly shift for himself, in his grief, not to mention his mountains of work, if I could borrow Sibyl till you saw fit to come back. And she missed out on the whole week of work she has to do at Hogwarts, having to look after me. It was frustrating for both of us, as I can't speak, but it's a good job Sibyl and I know each other so well, and I know I can always count on her, when I need her. I thought I could count on you , as well, Granger. I can see I was wrong."
"Snape, believe me, I mean, Christ, I mean, Merlyn's balls, I didn't…I didn't…"
"No. You didn't, did you? Your mate Krum did, though. I received an Express Owl from the Adelphi Hotel, from him, on Wednesday, first thing, telling me that you would be at the Adelphi Hotel, until Sunday, if I needed to reach you for any reason. I hardly know the boy, I taught him in one class, for one year, and he's got more regard for me than you have. Not to mention the way you've insulted me as a man!"
"What do you mean, as a man?" Hermione asked.
"Don't play dumb with me, Granger. Any bint what loves cock as much as you do knows exactly what a man is, don't she? Tom, I'm going to take you out on the porch. This is between me and Granger."
"I understand, Severus."
Snape took the skull out onto the front porch and set Tom on the table by his lawn chair.
"Sev, you really do feel terrible about this, don't you?"
"I do, Tom. I'm in love with the wretched little bitch, aren't I? Or something very like it. Something not so rosy and nice as love, but, well, I'm in a spot, I am!"
Snape really hadn't meant for that to slip out, but it was the truth, and he had to tell it to someone.
"Don't look so shocked, boy. I'm sure you think you're being wild about your Acolyte is a big secret no one knows, but, at least to me, and probably everyone else who knows you, it's rather obvious."
"Not to Granger."
"She's only 19. And so far you've showed her your love by spurning her, putting her off, and being the worst kind of horrible bastard to her. What did you expect?"
"You just get your fresh air. And don't talk to anyone."
Hermione was still standing in the doorway when Snape came back.
"You know, Granger, at me best, I'm a mean, ugly, bad-tempered old bastard, aged beyond his years, facing down forty with a lot of responsibility and a lot of bad road behind, and not much to show for it. Now? I'm a mean, ugly, bad-tempered old bastard, aged beyond his years, facing down forty with a bum leg and a bad arm, and I can't even speak. Maybe it was fucking vanity, but it was a stupid kind of comfort to me, that I had a pretty, intelligent young girl for my Acolyte who admired and respected me, and didn't half fancy me. Who carries on her pretty, round white thigh my mark, as her Master of the Fifth Discipline. I was rather looking forward to making good on that mark. I'm so terribly fucking sorry I couldn't get around to your initiation, or to some more informal shagging, but you're not the only witch in my life, and I haven't been up to me usual self, lately, have I? Also I'd like to apologize for being a little testy with you, but I'm having a bit of a hard time. The responsibility for the entire British Wizarding fucking world's been dumped on me shoulders, and for a few months there, it looked like I might be a pathetic, mute, impotent cripple for the rest of my natural life!"
Snape began to allow himself to be angry.
"Snape, I…I didn't think."
"Didn't you? D'you know how it makes me feel, not as your teacher, or your master, but as a man, that the first chance you had, you ran off with a handsome, famous lad half my age and left me here to twist in the wind, like a pathetic old cripple? The only fidelity I ever expect of any woman is that she treats me with respect, treats me like I'm a man, with common fucking decency. And you couldn't even manage that, you dirty, faithless little whore?"
"I'm sorry, Snape. I didn't meabn to. I mean, I..I didn't intend…"
"Are you? Really? You're sorry? Do you think that fookin' counts for anythin'? I've been fair with you, Granger. More than bloody fair. I knew you were a fookin' slut like every other Griffindor on God's Green Earth, and you would have spread your legs for me when you were 15 years old, and I could have ripped urf yer knickers an screwed you with me boots on, standing up, in the stockroom at Prince's Potions, come in your face and wiped me cock on your trousers and you would have fookin' well thanked me for it. Hell, Potter, your own best friend knew you were a fuckin' scrubber, didn't he? He pushed your face in a pile of wet leaves and told you to get your big Scouser arse high in the air for him, and you were glad to do it for him, and get on your knees in the snow and suck his cock for him whenever he liked! That Weasley idiot's the closet thing you have to a brother and you let him fuck you. And I heard right from Malfoy, himself, that it wasn't just poor old Dobby, rest his little soul, he was kin to my house elf, Treacher, who saved you from Bella Lestrange."
"Lord Malfoy removed me from harm's way, allowing Ron and Harry to escape, at great personal risk. He could have exposed himself as a double agent, and then Voldemort would have killed him. I felt as though I had to express my gratitude towards him in a very real and personal way. " Hermione sniffed.
Snape rolled his eyes.
"For fuck's sake Granger, who do you think you're fucking talking to! Tom wouldn't have killed Luke for all the tea in fucking China. I was his heir, but Luke was his favorite. The old perv never did get over Luke deciding his teenage experimentation was over and he didn't fancy blokes, leaving him, and taking Cissy with him. Till his last day he hoped he'd manage to get Malfoy in the sack, again. Tom wouldn't have harmed a bloody hair on Luke's head, especially not over a cloth-eared bint the likes of you!" Tom took a shot at killing me, but not Luke."
"You don't know that for sure." Hermione protested
"Yes I do! And you could have just said thank you very much and told him you owed him one. You've got balls, though, Granger. I'll give you that. There you were, in the jaws of the enemy, having just been tortured by the wickedest bitch in all of Britain. For once in his life, I don't believe Luke had any ulterior motive in washing you up and healing up your bruise and scratches other than looking after you. But right there at the intersection of power-mad and cock struck, which you are, is Luke Malfoy, being the Prince of Fucking Darkness, and the heir to Elrond and the Kings of Numenor, not to mention a 3rd degree Sex Magus and the kind of bloke witches like you go absolutely mad for. I was a fool to be the only man who ever took a second look at you and treat you like anything with respect, or decency. Sorry, are you? If you're so sorry, lock the door, get your kit off, and get down on your knees and suck my dick! If you do a good job of it, maybe I'll forgive you." Snape sneered.
Now Hermione got mad.
"You can't talk to me like that, you filthy, evil, murdering Death Eater bastard! You're worse than Voldemort, himself! You stepped over his bones like he was nothing to you, didn't you, you Judas? A man who was your Master, who loved you like you was his own son, who came this fookin' close to bein' your father, an' you fucked him over just like he was nobody. And Albus, too! Struck him down like he was a mad dog in the road! You rolled right over the bones of your Masters, two old men who thought the world of you enough to die so that you could live to inherit it from them! An' you don't care a monkey's for it! Not to mention you're a nice one to go on about my being a slut, or a whore! You'll fuck anything that isn't student over the age of consent with a pussy and a pulse, and you'll be goddamn grateful for it! Learn yoga, you skinny cunt, and suck your own dick! Fuck you!" Hermione howled.
Snape jumped to his feet, faster than she thought he could.
"Come here!"
"No!"
"Then I'll fookin' well make you!"
Snape grabbed Hermione, dragged her over to the table, sat back down and pulled her into his lap.
He kissed her, with as much contempt and violence as he might have hit her.
She pulled away from him.
"Don't touch me! I hate you!"
Then, Granger threw both of her arms around his neck, and kissed him, violently.
His long fingered hand snaked around her body and over her breast, and she pressed her body against his, squirming against him.
He could feel her heart fluttering and hammering in her chest.
Without a doubt, his logical Lolita was hot for him.
Suddenly disgusted, Snape shoved her off his lap and onto the floor.
"I had you right, didn't I? Get out of my sight. Go do the washing up, or something. Fix lunch. I don't know. You know, Luke and Tom both, they told me if I want to keep your attention I had better fuck you into it, which I very well could. But, just now, I don't want to. Which is odd, considering the way I've lusted after you, for years. I imagine I'll get over it, this feeling of disgust and disappointment, these spasms of morality don't last in me, very long. Or maybe I won't. But right now, feeling as I do? You couldn't pay me to touch you. I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
Snape wasn't lying, he really did feel awful.
Hermione followed him, this time.
"Snape, wait. Please. Listen. I didn't mean to hurt you. But you've been just brutal to me, these past few months. Absolutely brutal. There were times when I was actually terrified of you, not even in a magical sense, I was physically afraid of you, that you'd fucking well beat me, senseless. I wish you had hit me. I've been to war, I can take a punch. A punch would have hurt me a lot less than all your screaming at me over every little thing and being so damn mean to me. You don't know how I feel about you Snape, because I'd die before I told you, and I know I'm an awful slag, but when it comes to men, to sex, you know. I just can't seem to help meself. I just had to get away. I had to."
"I don't mind your going. It's the way you went. Maybe, you'd better tell me, Granger."
"Tell you what?'
"Just how you feel about me."
"I can't. It's got nothing to with love, or any of that. It's terrible."
"Tell me, anyway."
Hermione sighed.
"You're my Magnificent Obsession. The dark, malefic sexy beast, the monster of power who lurks in the shadows of what I'm sometimes sure is my hellbound heart. They say when you have deep feelings for someone it saves you. Not the feelings I have for you, Snape. They'll damn me, straight to Hell, and no bones about it. You see, I think, well, take Sibyl, for example. She cares for you in spite of what you are. Sge sees some prince in you who isn't there. No pun intended. Not me. I want you because of what you are. The Dark Spectre who haunts Hogwarts Castle, the infamous Sorcerer of Spinner's End whose very name struck fear and trembling into the heart of every boy and man on the estate. I mean, everyone who's ever met you is terrified of you, because you're such a mean, evil, brutal bastard. Bikies, chevs, skinheads, witches, wizards, Death Eaters, hard nuts of all sorts and shapes and kinds, they all know you and they all fear you. Your students most of all. They don't just fear you, they're so fucking terrified by the very thoughts of you that most of them fear you more than the Devil in Hell and Lord Voldemort, put together. And they're more in awe of him than any other wizard they could think of, living or dead. On both sides. Your Masters were the most brilliant White and Black Magicians of their age. You're probably the most terrifyingly powerful wizard who's ever lived, in addition to being the kind of villain you are. I may be in awe of you, but as your student, and your Acolyte, for your intelligence, and knowledge, for the depth of your magical skill, your power, the gravity of your grasp, not just of magick, but of the mysteries of the ways and means of the entire fookin' universe, itself. During the war, you barked and bit. I was the most trusted lieutenant in your army of spies and wreckers, and I came to admire your cunning, your grasp of strategy, your sense of history, and your strength, both mental and physical. I would have gone with you, no matter what side you were on. Not to mention, how I feel about you, as a woman. I really am the worst kind of slag, Snape, and I'm not ashamed of it even if I am a whore, or a slut, because I want you. And it's because you're mean and scarred and ugly and hairy and heavily tattooed and brutal. You're like some dark satyr who inhabits my most visceral fantasies of heavy, unrestrained lust. You're absolutely right about me. I'd crawl across hot coals and kneel in broken glass for the pleasure of sucking your dick. The only reason I didn't strip off and throw meself down on the linoleum is because I have these vestiges of pride. I am cock-struck and power-mad. I'm dazzled by your intellect, I'm enslaved by the idea that you can impart your forbidden knowledge to me, and I'm absolutely possessed by my lust for you. It's horrible. It's torture, every moment of my life."
Hermione felt quite drained, after she blurted out her confession.
Snape just looked at her for a moment, and then he grinned.
"You really, really, really should have been in Slytherin. I suppose I should come clean with you, as well. Do you know how often it is, what the odds in the universe are, of a man like me, having a girl like you madly lusting after him? To the point of utter derangement? A billion to one. No, a hundred billion, to one. Granger, you are also my magnificent obsession. You have been since you stated rubbing your luscious, rounded, hot little body against me when you were a little scrap of Scouser jailbait 15 years old. You don't know how hard it's been for me not to use the power at my disposal to murder Viktor Krum, with my bare hands, and get away with it, simply because he's had you. I'm greedy for you. You're my Acolyte, you're mine. You belong to me. Other men can fuck you, but none of them can have you, possess you. Not the way I do. Operating under thatrationale, I've done some horrible things."
Snape grinned, evilly.
"Horrible things?"
"Oh yes. Horrible. I've coveted you, and drooled over you, and wished all manners of horrible deaths on every man I've ever even suspected of touching you. I know what every single pair of knickers you possess looks like, because you've inadvertently showed them to me. If you ever noticed you're missing some, it's because you are. I've stolen a pair r two that I particularly liked."
"Really? Because Every month I steal a pair of your shorts from the Hogwarts laundry. I…I keep them in a plastic bag between me mattress and me box spring. And then at the end of the month, I switch them with another pair." Hermione blurted out.
"I've watched you get undressed."
"I've spied on you while you were taking a bath."
Snape laughed.
"You're a filthy little girl, aren't you, Granger?"
Hermione nodded.
"And you're a dirty old man!" she replied.
"D'you know wot, Granger? There's no war bringing impending death on one of us, no rules about you being under the age of majority, you've graduated, you're not my student, anymore. There's nothing to stop me, is there?"
"I certainly fucking won't!"
Snape picked Hermione up and lifted her onto the kitchen table.
He pulled her hard against his body, so that he could feel her nipples scraping against his bare chest through her thin shirt, and she could feel his cock insistently pressing against her belly.
She moaned a little, and squirmed against him.
"Now I have you, here, in my house, with all the doors locked. There's nothing and no one to stop me from stripping your arse naked and doing what I like with you. You're mine. All mine. All is forgiven. Granger. We understand each other, now. Gods, I've never wanted to fuck a woman so much in all my life! My Hermione, my Acolyte, you depraved, filthy little creature, let me fuck you and fondle you and utterly violate you in the most bestial fashion imaginable! Ooo, am I going to show you just what the bond between us is made of. "
He crushed her body against his and kissed her, furiously, ravenously, making a fist in her thick, curly, brown hair.
He knew he must have been pulling it a little but Hermione didn't care.
She kissed him, violently, squirming in his lap.
He devoured her mouth with deep kisses, stealing her breath away.
"…Snape…oooo, you bastard, you ugly, magnificent bastard, had you snuffed it I would have spent a year in mourning just for your cock! You had me right, you had me right all along! And had better fuck me like you mean it, or I swear, by the Great God Pan , I'll kill you while you're sleeping…" she gasped.
He seized her glassy, lust-filled eyes in his.
"You won't have the fucking strength, witch. Get your kit off. Now."
He unzipped his flies, and yanked down the waistband of his y-fronts.
Without anything like shame, Hermione undressed, fast as she could, and Snape stepped between her open legs, surrounded by her waiting arms.
She put one leg up around his waist, and he held it there, with his bad arm, and braced his good arm against the table.
"My Lolita, my sweet, dirty, beautiful, brilliant Lolita. I could fuck you a thousand times in a day and not have me fill of you. My own lovely, filthy little whore…"
Dirty talk absolutely deranged Hermione, and Snape was a silver-tongued Devil, indeed.
She groaned, helplessly.
"Toby…more, Toby, more…"
Sibyl Trelawney had taken to calling him Toby, like his father before him, because Snape hated his first name.
Hermione had just picked it up.
She couldn't fathom calling him "Severus" and it didn't seem right, calling him "Snape" if he was going to screw her into the tabletop.
"Are you that kind of hot little slut, it's not enough for a bloke to do you dirty, he has to talk that way to you, as well?" Snape purred in her ear, nipping softly at her earlobe.
"Yes…oh, yes…" Hermione moaned.
"I'll bet you are. I'll bet you'd love to drown me in your dirty, wet cunt. Maybe I'll get down on my knees on the linoleum, and devour your hot little pussy? I'll bet you'd love that."
She moaned all the louder, abandoning herself to the fury of their mutual lust.
"Or maybe I'll just shove your lovely, big, round white thighs open as far as they can go and drive me big, stiff cock into you? Is that what you want, my Lolita? For me to fuck you like the cock hungry little teenage whore you are?"
"YES!" Hermione howled, with joyous abandon.
He had his strong, long fingered hand between her legs, stroking, teasing, caressing, thrusting.
"You little devil, I'll bet you never got this wet for those boys you've fucked. Well you're going to have a man, now, aren't you? Be a good girl, and spread your legs for Daddy. No, wider."
Hermione was almost ashamed at the way she couldn't get her legs apart fast enough.
Almost.
Snape pressed the hand that wasn't between her legs against her belly and muttered something in Elvish, and Hermione felt a jolt like he'd thrust his cock into her and hit just the right spot.
"What the fuck was that?"
"A contraceptive spell."
Hermione was completely naked, and not only was the wicked old screw fully dressed, he still had his boots on.
He had his very talented, very dirty mouth all over her neck, and her ears and then her tits, teasing her nipples with his tongue and making Hermione erupt in moans, squeals and reams of shocking profanity.
It would not seem as if a man could masterfully fuck you, on a table, but the fulfillment of the very dirtiest fantasy had Hermione halfway to coming her brains out before the old Snape ever thrust that monster of his up her.
"Don't tease me anymore you bastard, I can't stand it. I want your cock, gods, I need it!' Hermione panted.
"All of it?" Snap mentally purred.
Hermione moaned by way of answering.
She was so ready for him that she nearly began to weep and sob with slippery liquid lust as he made good on his promise to drive his cock into her.
It was huge, immense, a magnificent weapon; she could only hope that he knew how to use it.
The old Snape, he surely did.
He rocked his hips around this and that way, and slid her a little closer to the edge of the table, then changed the intensity of his thrusts.
Hermione wasn't sure for what reason until the pleasure he was giving her mounted to a sharp crescendo, and she screamed and almost bit her tongue in half.
He'd found the spot.
Ron didn't know there was one, Viktor managed to hit it a few times, at least once a month, and Harry flat out asked her how she liked it and what way so he could get to it, but Snape just hit the fucking spot, right from go, and then, he kept hitting it.
Again, and again and again.
Harder and faster and deeper.
Hermione's legs began to quiver as she locked them around Snape; if he had let her go she would have collapsed on the floor.
She broke into a sweat and started tossing her head about, and bucking her hips against Snape; with all her might, with all her strength.
A weaker man would have buckled under the fruruous onslaught of Hermiones' furious lust, unleashed, but not Snape.
Oh no, not Snape.
The table itself began rocking and Snape tightened his hold on her.
"Good girl." Snape growled at her.
"Don't stop!" Hermione fairly sobbed.
"I won't. Even if you beg me to."
He smacked her on the ass.
"You take my cock like a shameless fucking whore, d'you know that? You live to fuck, don't you, you little slut?"
"Yes!" Hermione cried.
Snape smacked her on the ass, again.
"Say it louder. Scream for me!"
Not hard, she wouldn't have liked that.
Just a little smack.
"YES! OH, YES, FUCK, YES!"
Snape laughed.
Evilly.
"Liitle Griffindor slut! But you, my Lolita, you've got just about the hottest, sweetest little teenage pussy I've ever fucked. Gods, I'm going to come in you so fucking hard, I might fucking well pass out. But first, you're going to come for me. Come for me, Granger. Harder than you've ever come before. Just for dirty, greasy, ugly old Snape. Give me all of your sweet little cunt."
Hermione suddenly knew why the French called an orgasm "the little death."
Not even in her dreams had Hermione ever gone off like she was going off.
Her fingernails dug into the table and she squeezed her eyes shut and screamed her lungs out.
"Oh Gods, Gods Snape, I'm coming! I'm your Lolita, your little whore, your little slut! Fuck me, fuck my hot, dirty cunt while I come all over you, you ugly, magnificent bastard!"
That was just about the filthiest thing she'd ever said.
It was very liberating, and it made her feel very, very good.
And Hermione went limp, limp as a rag doll, and she slid off the table and Snape let her fall against his legs.
He hadn't come yet, and she found herself face to face with the only part of Severus Snape that was absolutely beautiful.
He had it over Viktor, even over Harry, who was famous for being hung like a satyr.
Snape's was a most magnificent weapon, long and thick and heavy and hard.
"Suck it. Suck the cock that fucked you."
Viktor always told her that she gave the best head he'd ever had in his life, and he'd probably got a million blowjobs from a zillion Quidditch groupies.
She's sat back on her heels and looked up at him when she was done and found him weeping, and calling on the gods in Bulgarian, Russian, and English.
Dimly, Hermione was thinking that she'd show the jaded old bastard a thing or two, but that was not the foremost thought in Hermione's mind.
It gave her almost as much pleasure to suck him as fucking him had.
She flattened her body against Snape's legs, and put one arm around his hips.
The world had gotten very small, it had shrunk to the size of this man, this one man, the man the Devil had made for her in the deepest pits of sulfurous hell, and his cock in her mouth.
She was hungry for him, starved, and Snape's knees buckled against her and he had to lean back on a chair, as she sucked his big cock, and licked it, and jacked him off into her mouth, bending over him, gloating over him until she had taken the whole monster in.
Snape had both his hand in her hair, and he was moaning the most lovely things, the most lovely filthy things, and his knees locked, and she felt him go all rough and rigid and she knew he was going to come.
His knees weak, Snape sunk back into the chair, and Hermione rested her head on his knees.
She was almost drowsing, but he was hauling her to her feet, reaching for his walking stick.
Pulling her to the stairs.
"Where are we going?"
"Back to bed. That was just hello. I'll tell you what we're going to do today, Granger. I'm going to fuck you every which way I can, and come in you and on you and all over you, until I haven't got a drop of spunk left in me balls."
"Not in me arse, Toby. Not only am I not fond of that, as big as your cock is, you'd kill me."
Snape laughed.
It was a hard, ugly sound, and Hermione almost swooned with lust.
"Is that what you thought I meant? It wasn't. I'm a Master of Sex Magick in the Third Degree. I know ways to fuck that you've never even thought of."
"I've thought of one, Snape. And I'll bet you give the best head of any wizard on God's Green Earth."
"I've been told I do. You know the way you come in your dirty little dreams? The way you've never come, in all your life, while you were awake?"
Hermione nodded, vigorously
With a burst of energy, Snape tossed Hermione over his good shoulder and up the stairs they went.
"Well, inside of twenty minutes, you'll be coming like that. In my hungry mouth, as I devour you."
She very nearly swooned.
"Fucking hell, Snape, I can't wait until you get your voice back! I'll bet you can talk me into coming my brains out, just with the sound of your voice." she told him.
II: Hermione
"Maybe I should get out of bed, and see about dinner."
Snape wouldn't let her out of bed and she turned to him.
"We'll down a bit of Strengthening Tonic and go eat at the Belly. I owe you an apology, Granger."
"You do? For what?"
"Not being able to sort being fucking furious at you from wanting to do some furious fucking, with you. I'm not completely a mercenary old bastard. When I envisioned having you, for the first time, I hadn't expected it to be quite so angry and dirty."
"Well, I certainly thought that shagging you gave me on the table would be the best of my life. Then you brought me up here. It wasn't angry. Very dirty, though. You don't have to apologize to me, Snape. You've nothing to apologise for."
Snape grinned at her, then, his crooked smile full of gold crowns.
"I don't care how many laws it's against. I'm going to use some old fashioned fucking magic to fix these air conditioners."
"That'd be nice. But they've got air conditioning, at the Belly. Well, if I'm going to make an appearance in public, I'll have to take a bath."
"Granger, wait. I have something serious I want to talk to you about."
Hermione's heart leapt into her mouth and her stomach did flip flops.
Panic crawled around in her guts like a virus.
Gods, if he tells me he loves me and asks me to marry him, I'll drown meself in the fucking sink.
"Well, Granger, it's about time, now, I suppose, to make good on that tattoo I so rashly gave you, before the Ragnarok. Mind you, it's no easy go of it, no matter what you may think. We're talking about the most arcane, dangerous and complicated of all disciplines. It is also the oldest of the Five Discplines, the most powerful and the most mystical. I'm talking about the force that drives the human universe. The engine of evolution. Of life, itself. To master the discipline of its magick is to vibrate in tune to the strings that hold the universe together. A magick that is ungovernable and unfathomable; it is a Dark Art not in that it is evil, but in that it is elemental. To choose its path is to choose to become an avatar of entropy, a master of chaos. A piper at not just the gates of dawn, but the gates of doom. And on beyond, into infinite eternity. It's serious business Granger. You can still weasel out, you know. It won't be easy, or fun, but as I've not yet begun your instruction, there are ways. And it doesn't mean I'm likely to kick you out of my bed anytime soon, either. "
"Why would I want to weasel out?"
"You wouldn't. It's the best thing for you, really. A witch like you."
"Are you fucking insulting me, now, Snape? Because I was good enough for you a about a half hour ago, when I was…"
"I'm not insulting you, for fuck's sake! Considering your adeptness at the other Disciplines, I think you have the makings of a Pendragon. But I think you need the discipline this Discipline will bring you. With some people, sex is their Achilles Heel. You're one of those people. It takes one to know one. I am, too. You were right about me. My type of woman is anyone not my student who is over the age of 16 with a pussy and a pulse. Without the discipline of Sex Magick, I might have ruined meself and more women than you might think of. I've seen the way you throw yourself under Krum, and I'll bet when you were in the woods you threw yourself under Potter and I also just bet you threw yourself under Luke Malfoy, as well, when you had half a chance, even though you were right in the middle of a battle, practically. That's no good, is it? Losing your head when it comes to fucking, I dare say as a woman it'll make more trouble for you than it would for a man. A man who fucks a lot of birds , he's a stud. A hero. Someone to be admired. But, still, a woman who fucks a lot of men is a whore and a slag and a slut, and a reputation like that will come back to bite you on the arse no matter how brilliant you are or what qualifications you have. Not to mention it makes it woefully easy for anyone to get one over on you. They just parade a likely enough bloke past you and you're for it. What I mean to say is, you might as well embrace your nature, and your gifts, and the power , the great power that you can have from them, rather than hide from them in shame, or get yourself into trouble squandering them on whoever you can get your legs around."
Hermione frowned.
"You know me too well, Snape."
"Good thing for you its' only me who knows you so well. And Potter, I expect. But he's your best mate, he'll keep schtum, the horny little shit! Fancy the little bastard, leaping all over you the moment my back was turned! Well he's warmed his hands in your muff for the last time, whether he knows it or not! I'll have to make him toe the line, now. I'm fairly close to well. We'll go pay Potter a visit, you and I, without warning him. See just how much of a cock up he's making of his life."
"I hear things, Snape. None of them are good."
"I'll fix Potter's little red wagon, don't you worry about that! When I talked to you, just now, though, why did you look so fookin' terrified?"
"Oh. That. I was afraid you were going to tell me that you wanted to get married, and I was expected to never touch another man, again.
"Who, me? I can spell monogamy, but I'm not bloody interested in it. I know you better than that, Granger. That's the last kind of bullshit talk you want to hear. Or I want to be sayin'. Besides, I find it titillating that you're such a nasty little whore. I already know that none of the boys you run with hold a candle to me, at any rate. Utterly corrupt, right down to the marrow of your bones."
"Your kind of woman?"
"Certainly. Right, then. Let's get up out of this bed and go wash up. I'm fookin' starvin'!"
"Me too. Let's go." Hermione agreed.